Prince Fortunatus | Page 5

and with a resonant and finely
sympathetic timbre that seemed easily to find its way (according to all
accounts) to the feminine heart. And the music of this serenade was
really admirable, of subtle and delicate quality, and yet full of the
simplest melody, and perhaps none the less to be appreciated that it
seemed to suggest a careful study of the best English composers. The
words were conventional enough, of course; but then the whole story of
"The Squire's Daughter" was as artificial as the wigs and powder and
patches of the performers; and even now, when Harry Thornhill, bereft
of all his gay silk and lace and ruffles, and become plain Mr. Lionel
Moore, in ordinary evening dress, sang to Miss Georgie Lestrange's
accompaniment, the crowd did not think of the words--they were
entranced by the music. "The starry night"--this is how Harry Thornhill,

in the opera, addresses Grace Mainwaring, he standing in the moonlit
garden and looking up to her window--
"The starry night brings me no rest; My ardent love now stands
confessed; Appear, my sweet, and shame the skies, That have no
splendor, That have no splendor like thine eyes!"
The serenade was followed by a general murmur of approbation, rather
than by any loud applause; but the pretty Mrs. Mellord came up to the
singer and was most profuse of thanks. Prudently, however, he moved
away from the piano, being accompanied by Miss Georgie Lestrange,
who seemed rather pleased with the prominence this position gave her;
and very soon a surreptitious message reached them both that they were
wanted below. When they went down into the hall they found that Lady
Adela had got her party collected, including Miss Lestrange's brother
Percy; thereupon the four ladies got into the brougham and drove off,
while the three gentlemen proposed to follow on foot, and have a
cigarette the while. It was a pleasantly warm night, and they had no
farther to go than Sir Hugh Cunyngham's house, which is one of the
large garden-surrounded mansions on the summit of Campden Hill.
When at length they arrived there and had entered by the wooden gate,
the semicircular carriage-drive, lit by two solitary lamps, and the front
of the house itself, half-hidden among the black trees, seemed
somewhat sombre and repellent at this silent hour of the morning; but
they found a more cheerful radiance streaming out from the hall-door,
which had been left open for them; and when they went into the large
dining-room, where the ladies had already assembled, there was no lack
of either light or color there, for all the candles were ablaze, and the
long table was brilliant with silver and Venetian glass and flowers. And,
indeed, this proved to be a very merry and talkative supper-party; for,
as soon as supper was served, the servants were sent off to bed; Lord
Rockminster constituted himself butler, and Percy Lestrange handed
round the pheasants' eggs and asparagus and such things; so that there
was no alien ear in the room. Lionel Moore, being less familiar with the
house, was exempted from these duties; in truth, it was rather the
women-folk who waited upon him--and petted him as he was used to

be petted, wherever that fortunate young man happened to go.
However, it was not supper that was chiefly occupying the attention of
this band of eager chatterers (from whom the silent Lord Rockminster,
walking gravely round the table with a large jug of champagne-cup in
his hand, must honorably be distinguished), it was the contemplated
production of a little musical entertainment called "The Chaplet," by Dr.
Boyce, which they were about to attempt, out-of-doors, on some
afternoon still to be fixed, and before a select concourse of friends. And
the most vivacious of the talkers was the red-headed and merry-eyed
young maiden in blue silver and brocade, who seemed incapable of
keeping her rosebud of a mouth closed for more than a minute at a
time.
"I do think it's awfully hard on me," she was protesting. "Look how I'm
handicapped! Everybody knows that Pastora was played by Kitty Olive;
and everybody will say, 'That Lestrange girl has cheek, hasn't she?
thinks she can play Kitty Olive's parts!' And you know Pastora is
always calling attention to her fascinating appearance."
"Georgie, you're fishing for compliments!" the young matron said,
severely.
"No, I'm not, Adela," said Miss Lestrange, who, indeed, looked as
charming as any Kitty Olive could ever have done. "Then there's
another thing: fancy my having to sing a duet with Mr. Moore! It's all
very well for you to sing a song off your own bat--"
"That would be difficult, Georgie," Lady Adela observed.
"Oh, you know what I mean. But when you come to sing in conjunction
with an artist like