Prince Fortunatus | Page 4

marked kindness. Indeed, he seemed to be known to a
considerable number of the people who were assembled in these
spacious rooms of white and gold; while those who were not personally
acquainted with him easily recognized him, for were not his
photographs in every stationer's window in London? The Ladies Sybil
and Rosamund Bourne they found in the studio, talking to the great
Academician himself. These two young ladies were even taller, as they
likewise were fairer in complexion, than their married sister; moreover,
they were much more dignified in demeanor than she was, though that
may have merely arisen from maidenly reserve. But when Mr. Mellord
exhibited at the Royal Academy his much-talked-of picture of the three
sisters, most people seemed to think that though the two younger ladies
might have carried off the palm for their handsome, pale, regularly cut
features and their calm, observant eyes, there was something in the
bright, vivacious look of the eldest that outweighed these advantages;
while in society, and especially as a hostess in her own house, the
charm of Lady Adela's manner, and her quick, sympathetic, engaging
ways made her a universal favorite. And one was tempted, in
amazement, to ask how it came about that a woman so alert and
intelligent, so conversant with the world, so ready to note the ridiculous
side of things, could not understand what a poor and lamentable figure
she made as an amateur authoress? But had the Lady Sybil any less
confidence in her musical attainments, when she would undertake to
play a duet with one of the most distinguished of professional
musicians, she on the violin, he at the piano? And here, at this very
moment, was Lady Rosamund talking to by far and away the greatest
painter in England, and there was a picture before them on an easel, and

she was saying to him, with perfect coolness,
"Why, I see you use cadmium yellow, Mr. Mellord! I never do."
Somehow an impression got abroad through these brilliant rooms that
Mr. Moore was going to sing; and at length Mrs. Mellord came to the
young man and frankly preferred her request.
"Oh, yes," said he, most good-naturedly.
"The serenade?" she ventured to hint.
"Oh, not the serenade!" said he, with a laugh. "Every butcher's boy in
the streets whistles it."
"All England is singing it--and a good thing, too," she made answer;
and then she said, with some emphasis: "I am sure no one rejoices more
than myself at the great popularity of 'The Squire's Daughter.' I am very
glad to see that a comedy-opera may be based on the best traditions of
English music; and I hope we shall have a great deal less of the
Offenbach tinkle-tankle."
"The serenade, if you like, then," said he, with, careless good-humor;
what did it matter to him?
"And whom shall I get to play an accompaniment for you?"
"Oh, you needn't trouble; I can do that for myself--"
"But you must make one young lady supremely happy," said she, with
insidious flattery.
He glanced round the studio.
"I see Miss Lestrange over there--she has played it for me
before--without the music, I mean."
"Then I'll go and fetch her," said the indefatigable hostess; and now
everybody seemed to know that Mr. Lionel Moore was about to sing

"The Starry Night."
Miss Georgie Lestrange was no sooner appealed to than she came
through the crowd, smiling and laughing. She was an exceedingly
pretty lass, with fresh-complexioned cheeks, a pert and attractive nose,
a winsome mouth, and merry blue eyes that were hardly made grave by
the pince-nez that she habitually wore. She was very prettily dressed,
too--in blue-and-silver brocade, with a high Medici collar of silver lace,
puffed sleeves with twisted cords of silver, and silver fillets binding the
abundant masses of her ruddy-golden hair. She sat down at the piano,
and the first notes of the accompaniment deepened the silence that now
prevailed, not only in this big studio, but throughout the
communicating rooms.
Probably there was not a human being in the place who had not heard
this serenade sung a dozen times over, for it was the most popular air of
the most popular piece then being played in London; but there was
some kind of novelty in listening to the same notes that had thrilled
through the theatre (rather, that had sent their passionate appeal up to a
certain mysterious balcony, in the dim moonlight of the stage) now
pulsating through the hushed silence of these modern rooms. Lionel
Moore was not a baritone of altogether rare and exceptional gifts,
otherwise he might hardly have been content with even the popularity
and the substantial rewards of comic opera; but he had a very excellent
voice for all that, of high range,