Prince Fortunatus | Page 6

Mr. Moore, what then? They will say it is mere
presumption, when my little squeak of a voice gets drowned
altogether."
"If you give any weight to a professional opinion, Miss Lestrange," the
young baritone said, "I can assure you you sing your part in that
duet--or in anything else I've heard you sing--very well indeed. Very

well indeed."
"Ah, now Georgie's happy," said Lady Adela, with a laugh, as the
blushing damsel cast down her eyes. "Well, I propose that we all go
into the drawing-room, and we'll hear for ourselves how Pastora and
Damon sing together. You may make as much noise as ever you like;
the children are in Hampshire; Hugh is in Scotland; the servants are out
of hearing; and our neighbors are a long way off."
This suggestion, coming from the lady of the house, was of the nature
of a command, and so they leisurely trooped into the great
drawing-room, where the candles were still burning. But there was
something else than these artificial lights that attracted the sharp eyes
of Miss Georgie Lestrange the moment she entered this new apartment.
There was a curious, wan kind of color about the curtains and the
French windows that did not seem natural to the room. She walked
quickly forward, drew the lace hangings aside, and then, suddenly, she
exclaimed,
"Why, it's almost daylight! Look here, Adela, why shouldn't we have a
rehearsal of the whole piece, from end to end--a real rehearsal, this time,
on the lawn? and Rose can tell us all how we are to stand, and Mr.
Moore will show us what we should do besides merely speaking the
lines."
This bold proposal was greeted with general acclaim, and instantly
there was a bustle of preparation. Lady Sybil began to tune her violin
by the side of the open piano; Lady Rosamund, who was at once
scene-painter and stage-manager, as it were, got out some sheets of
drawing-paper, on which she had sketched the various groups; and
Lady Adela brought forth the MS. books of the play, which had been
prepared under the careful (and necessary) supervision of Lionel
Moore.
"Rockminster will have to figure as the audience," his eldest sister said,
as she was looping up her long train of silver-gray satin preparatory to
going out.

"That is a part I could play to perfection," put in Miss Lestrange's
brother.
"Oh, no," Lady Adela remonstrated. "You may be wanted for Palæmon.
You see, this is how it stands. The young shepherd was originally
played at Drury Lane by a boy--and in Dublin by an actress; it is a
boy's part, indeed. Well, you know, we thought Cis Yorke would snap
at it; and she was eager enough at first; but"--and here Lady Adela
smiled demurely--"I think her courage gave way. The boy's dress
looked charming as Rose sketched it for her--and the long cloak made
it quite proper, you know--and very picturesque, too--but--but I think
she's frightened. We can't count on her. So we may have to call on you
for Palæmon, Mr. Lestrange."
"And I have taken the liberty of cutting out the song, for it's rather
stupid," said Lionel Moore, "so you've only got a few lines to repeat."
"The fewer the better," replied Mr. Percy Lestrange, who was possibly
right in considering that, with his far-from-regular features and his red
hair and moustache, his appearance as a handsome young swain should
not have too much prominence given it.
Notwithstanding that it had been Miss Lestrange's audacious proposal
that they should go masquerading in the open air, she was a wise young
virgin, and she took care before going out to thrust a soft silk
handkerchief into the square opening of her dress; the Ladies Sybil and
Rosamund followed her example by drawing lace scarfs round their
necks and shoulders; it was the young matron who was reprehensibly
careless, and who, when the French windows were thrown open, went
forth boldly, and without any wrap at all, into the cool air of the dawn.
But for a second, as they stood on the little stone balcony above the
steps leading down to the garden, this group of revellers were struck
silent. The world looked so strange around them. In the mysterious
gray light, that had no sort of kindly warmth in it, the grass of the lawn
and the surrounding trees seemed coldly and intensely green; and cold
and intense, with no richness of hue at all, were the colors of the
flowers in the various plots and beds. Not a bird chirped as yet. Not a
leaf stirred. But in this ghostly twilight the solitary gas lamps were

beginning to show pale; and in the southern heavens the silver sickle of
the moon, stealing over to the west, seemed to be