good-naturedenough to have done even that--I should have given the drawing-roomgasp at the end, and told your brother that I thought you sang veryprettily."
Sylvia laughed.
"But really it wasn't my fault, Lady Barbara," she said. "When we met Icouldn't have said, 'Beware! I am THE Miss Falbe.'"
"No, my dear; but I think you ought, somehow, to have conveyed theimpression that you were a tremendous swell. You didn't. I have beenthinking of you as a charming girl, and nothing more."
"But that's quite good enough for me," said Sylvia.
The two young men joined them after this, and Hermann speedily becameengrossed in reading the finished Variations. Some of these pleased himmightily; one he altogether demurred to.
"It's just a crib, Mike," he said. "The critics would say I hadforgotten it, and put in instead what I could remember of a variationout of the Handel theme. That next one's, oh, great fun. But I wishyou would remember that we all haven't got great orang-outang paws likeyou."
Aunt Barbara stopped in the middle of her sentence; she knew Michael'sold sensitiveness about these physical disabilities, and she had amoment's cold horror at the thought of Falbe having said so miserablytactless a thing to him. But the horror was of infinitesimal duration,for she heard Michael's laugh as they leaned over the top of the pianotogether.
"I wish you had, Hermann," he said. "I know you'll bungle those tenths."
Falbe moved to the piano-seat.
"Oh, let's have a shot at it," he said. "If Lady Barbara won't mind,play that one through to me first, Mike."
"Oh, presently, Hermann," he said. "It makes such an infernal row thatyou can't hear anything else afterwards. Do sing, Miss Sylvia; my auntwon't really mind--will you, Aunt Barbara?"
"Michael, I have just learned that this is THE Miss Falbe," she said. "Iam suffering from shock. Do let me suffer from coals of fire, too."
Michael gently edged Hermann away from the music-stool. Much as heenjoyed his master's accompaniment he was perfectly sure that hepreferred, if possible, to play for Sylvia himself than have thepleasure of listening to anybody else.
"And may I play for you, Miss Sylvia?" he asked.
"Yes, will you? Thanks, Lord Comber."
Hermann moved away.
"And so Mr. Hermann sits down by Lady Barbara while Lord Comber playsfor Miss Sylvia," he observed, with emphasis on the titles.
A sudden amazing boldness seized Michael.
"Sylvia, then," he said.
"All right, Michael," answered the girl, laughing.
She came and stood on the left of the piano, slightly behind him.
"And what are we going to have?" asked Michael.
"It must be something we both know, for I've brought no music," saidshe.
Michael began playing the introduction to the Hugo Wolff song whichhe had accompanied for her one Sunday night at their house. He knew itperfectly by heart, but stumbled a little over the difficult syncopatedtime. This was not done without purpose, for the next moment he felt herhand on his shoulder marking it for him.
"Yes, that's right," she said. "Now you've got it." And Michael smiledsweetly at his own amazing ingenuity.
Hermann put down the Variations, which he still had in his hand, whenSylvia's voice began. Unaccustomed as she was to her accompanist, histrained ear told him that she was singing perfectly at ease, and wascompletely at home with her player. Occasionally she gave Michael somelittle indication, as she had done before, but for the most part herfingers rested immobile on his shoulder, and he seemed to understandher perfectly. Somehow this was a surprise to him; he had not known thatMichael possessed that sort of second-sight that unerringly feels andtranslates into the keys the singer's mood. For himself he always had toattend most closely when he was playing for his sister, but familiar ashe was with her singing, he felt that Michael divined her certainly aswell as himself, and he listened to the piano more than to the voice.
"You extraordinary creature," he said when the song was over. "Where didyou learn to accompany?"
Suddenly Michael felt an access of shyness, as if he had been surprisedwhen he thought himself private.
"Oh, I've played it before for Miss--I mean for Sylvia," he said.
Then he turned to the girl.
"Thanks, awfully," he said. "And I'm greedy. May we have one more?"
He slid into the opening bars of "Who is Sylvia?" That song, sincehe had heard her sing it at her recital in the summer, had grown insignificance to him, even as she had. It had seemed part of her then,but then she was a stranger. To-night it was even more intimately partof her, and she was a friend.
Hermann strolled across to the fireplace at the end of this, and lit acigarette.
"My sister's a blatant egoist, Lady Barbara," he said. "She lovessinging about herself. And she lays it on pretty thick, too, doesn'tshe? Now, Sylvia, if you've finished--quite finished, I mean--do comeand sit down and let me try these Variations--"
"Shall we surrender, Michael?" asked the girl. "Or shall we stick to thepiano, now we've got it? If Hermann once sits down, you know, we shan'tget him away for the rest of the evening. I can't sing any more, but wemight play a duet to keep him out."
Hermann rushed to the piano, took his sister by the shoulders, andpushed her into a chair.
"You sit there," he said, "and listen to something not about yourself.Michael, if you don't come away from that piano, I shall take Sylviahome at once. Now you may all talk as much as you like; you won'tinterrupt me one atom--but you'll have to talk loud in certain parts."
Then a feat of marvellous execution began. Michael had taken an evilpleasure in giving his master, for whom he slaved with so unwearied adiligence, something that should tax his powers, and he gave a greatcrash of laughter when for a moment Hermann was brought to a completestandstill in an octave passage of triplets against quavers, and theperformer exultantly joined in it, as he pushed his hair back from hisforehead, and made a second attempt.
"It isn't decent to ask a fellow to read that," he shouted. "It's acrime; it's a scandal."
"My dear, nobody asked you to read it," said Sylvia.
"Silence, you chit! Mike, come here a minute. Sit down one second andplay that. Promise to get up again, though, immediately. Just thesethree bars--yes, I see. An orang-outang apparently can do it, so whynot I? Am I not much better than they? Go away, please; or, rather, stopthere and turn over. Why couldn't you have finished the page with thelast act, and started this one fresh, instead of making this Godforsakenarrangement? Now!"
A very simple little minuet measure followed this outrageous passage,and Hermann's exquisite lightness of touch made it sound strangelyremote, as if from a mile away, or a hundred years ago, some gracefulecho was evoked again. Then the little dirge wept for the memoriesof something that had never happened, and leaving out the number hedisapproved of, as reminiscent of the Handel theme, Hermann gatheredhimself up again for the assertion of the original tune, with its barsof scale octaves. The contagious jollity of it all seized the others,and Sylvia, with full voice, and Aunt Barbara, in a strange hooting,sang to it.
Then Hermann banged out the last chord, and jumped up from his seat,rolling up the music.
"I go straight home," he said, "and have a peaceful hour with it.Michael, old boy, how did you do it? You've been studying seriously fora few months only, and so this must all have been in you before. Andyou've come to the age you are without letting any of it out. I supposethat's why it has come with a rush. You knew it all along, while youwere wasting your time over drilling your toy soldiers. Come on, Sylvia,or I shall go without you. Good night, Lady Barbara. Half-past tento-morrow, Michael."
Protest was clearly useless; and, having seen the two off, Michael cameupstairs again to Aunt Barbara, who had no intention of going away justyet.
"And so these are the people you have been living with," she said. "Nowonder you had not time to come and see me. Do they always go that sortof pace--it is quicker than when I talk French."
r /> Michael sank into a chair.
"Oh, yes, that's Hermann all over," he said. "But--but just think whatit means to me! He's going to play my tunes at his concert. MichaelComber, Op. 1. O Lord! O Lord!"
"And you just met him in the train?" said Aunt Barbara.
"Yes; second class, Victoria Station, with Sylvia on the platform. Ididn't much notice Sylvia then."
This and the inference that naturally followed was as much as could beexpected, and Aunt Barbara did not appear to wait for anything more onthe subject of Sylvia.