looked at it
earnestly for a moment, and said, "Have you got a pin about you?"
"There is one in the pincushion on my table," she said; "but I think it's a
black one. I dont know where the deuce all the pins go to." Then,
casting off the subject, she whistled a long and florid cadenza, and
added, by way of instrumental interlude, a remarkably close imitation
of a violoncello. Meanwhile the man went into her room for the pin. On
his return she suddenly became curious, and said, "Where are you
going to-night, if one may ask?"
"I am going out."
She looked at him for a moment, and turned contemptuously to the
mirror, saying, "Thank you. Sorry to be inquisitive."
"I am going to sing for the Countess of Carbury at a concert at
Wandsworth."
"Sing! You! The Countess of Barbury! Does she live at Wandsworth?"
"No. She lives in Park Lane."
"Oh! I beg her pardon." The man made no comment on this; and she,
after looking doubtfully at him to assure herself that he was in earnest,
continued, "How does the Countess of Whatshername come to know
_you_, pray?"
"Why not?"
A long pause ensued. Then she said: "Stuff!", but without conviction.
Her exclamation had no apparent effect on him until he had buttoned
his waistcoat and arranged his watch-chain. Then he glanced at a sheet
of pink paper which lay on the mantelpiece. She snatched it at once;
opened it; stared incredulously at it; and said, "Pink paper, and
scalloped edges! How filthily vulgar! I thought she was not much of a
Countess! Ahem! 'Music for the People. Parnassus Society. A concert
will be given at the Town Hall, Wandsworth, on Tuesday, the 25th
April, by the Countess of Carbury, assisted by the following ladies and
gentlemen. Miss Elinor McQuinch'--what a name! 'Miss Marian
Lind'--who's Miss Marian Lind?"
"How should I know?"
"I only thought, as she is a pal of the Countess, that you would most
likely be intimate with her. 'Mrs. Leith Fairfax.' There is a Mrs. Leith
Fairfax who writes novels, and very rotten novels they are, too. Who
are the gentlemen? 'Mr. Marmaduke Lind'--brother to Miss Marian, I
suppose. 'Mr. Edward Conolly'--save the mark! they must have been
rather hard up for gentlemen when they put you down as one. The
Conolly family is looking up at last. Hm! nearly a dozen altogether.
'Tickets will be distributed to the families of working men by the Rev.
George Lind'--pity they didnt engage Jenny Lind on purpose to sing
with you. 'A limited number of front seats at one shilling. Please turn
over.
Part I.
Symphony in F: Haydn. Arranged for four English concertinas by
Julius Baker. Mr. Julius Baker; Master Julius Abt Baker; Miss Lisette
Baker (aged 8); and Miss Totty Baker (aged 6-1/2)'. Good Lord! 'Song:
Rose softly blooming: Spohr. Miss Marian Lind.' I wonder whether she
can sing! 'Polonaise in A flat major: Chopin'--what rot! As if working
people cared about Chopin! Miss Elinor McQuinch is a fool, I see.
'Song: The Valley: Gounod.' Of course: I knew you would try that. Oho!
Here's something sensible at last. 'Nigger melody. Uncle Ned. Mr.
Marmaduke Lind, accompanied by himself on the banjo.'
Dum, drum. Dum, drum. Dum, drum. Dum-- 'And there was an ole
nigga; and his name was Uncle Ned; An' him dead long ago, long ago.
An' he had no hair on the top of his head In the place where the wool
ought to grow,'
Mr. Marmaduke Lind will get a double _encore_; and no one will take
the least notice of you or the others. 'Recitation. The Faithful Soul.
Adelaide Proctor. Mrs. Leith Fairfax.' Well, this certainly is a blessed
attempt to amuse Wandsworth. Another reading by the Rev.----"
Here Conolly, who had been putting on his overcoat, picked the
program deftly from his sister's fingers, and left the room. She, after
damning him very heartily, returned to the glass, and continued
dressing, taking her tea at intervals until she was ready to go out, when
she sent for a cab, and bade the driver convey her to the Bijou Theatre,
Soho.
Conolly, on arriving at the Wandsworth Town Hall, was directed to a
committee room, which served as green-room on this occasion. He was
greeted by a clean shaven young clergyman who protested that he was
glad to see him there, but did not offer his hand. Conolly thanked him
briefly, and went without further ceremony to the table, and was about
to place his hat and overcoat on a heap of similar garments, when,
observing that there were some hooks along the wall, he immediately
crossed over and hung up his things on them, thereby producing an
underbred effect of being more prudent and observant than
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