Lady Connie Part 22

My father and mother died years ago. My mother, you understand, was half English; I always spoke English with her. She knew I must be a musician.

That was settled when I was a child. Music is my life. But if I took it for a profession, she made me promise to see some other kinds of life first. She often said she would like me to go to Oxford. She had some old engravings of the colleges she used to show me. I am not a pauper, you see,--not at all. My family was once a very great family; and I have some money--not very much, but enough. So then Mr. Sorell and I began to talk. And I had suddenly the feeling--'If this man will tell me what to do, I will do it.' And then he found I was thinking of Oxford, and he said, if I came, he would be my friend, and look after me. And so he advised me to go to Marmion, because some of the tutors there were great friends of his. And that is why I went. And I have been there nearly a year."

"And you like it?" Connie, sitting hunched on the music-stool, her chin on her hand, was thinking of Falloden's outburst, and her own rebuff in Lathom Woods.

The boy shrugged his shoulders. He looked at Connie with his brilliant eyes, and she seemed to see that he was on the point of confiding in her, of complaining of his treatment, and then proudly checked himself.

"Oh, I like it well enough," he said carelessly. "I am reading cla.s.sics.

I love Greek. There is a soul in Greek. Latin--and Rome--that is too like the Germans! Now let me play to you--something from Poland."

He took her seat at the piano, and began to play--first in a dreamy and quiet way, pa.s.sing from one plaintive folk-song to another; then gradually rising into pa.s.sion, defiance, tragedy. Constance stood listening to him in amazement--entranced. Music was a natural language to her as it was to Radowitz, though her gift was so small and slight compared to his. But she understood and followed him; and there sprang up in her, as she sat turning her delicate face to the musician, that sudden, impa.s.sioned delight, that sense of fellowship with things vast and incommunicable--"exultations, agonies, and love, and man's unconquerable mind"--which it is the glorious function of music to kindle in the human spirit.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Lady Connie had stood entranced by the playing of Radowitz_]

The twilight darkened. Every sound in the room but Radowitz's playing had ceased; even Mrs. Hooper had put down her newspaper. Nora, on the further side of the room, was absorbed in watching the two beautiful figures under the lamplight, the golden-haired musician and the listening girl.

Suddenly there was a noise of voices in the hall outside. The drawing-room door was thrown open, and the parlourmaid announced:

"Mr. Falloden."

Mrs. Hooper rose hastily. Radowitz wavered in a march finale he was improvising, and looked round.

"Oh, go on!" cried Constance.

But Radowitz ceased playing. He got up, with an angry shake of his wave of hair, muttered something about "another couple of hours' work" and closed the piano.

Constance remained sitting, as though unaware of the new arrival in the room.

"That was wonderful!" she said, with a long breath, her eyes raised to Radowitz. "Now I shall go and read Polish history!"

A resonant voice said:

"Hullo--Radowitz! Good-evening, Lady Connie. Isn't this a scandalous time to call? But I came about the ball-tickets for next Wednesday--to ask how many your aunt wants. There seems to be an unholy rush on them."

Connie put out a careless hand.

"How do you do? We've been having the most divine music! Next Wednesday?

Oh, yes, I remember!" And as she recovered her hand from Falloden, she drew it across her eyes, as though trying to dispel the dream in which Radowitz's playing had wrapped her. Then the hand dropped, and she saw the drawing-room door closing on the player.

Falloden looked down upon her with a sarcastic mouth, which, however, worked nervously.

"I'm extremely sorry to bring you down to earth. I suppose he's awfully good."

"It's genius," said Connie, breathlessly--"just that--genius! I had no idea he had such a gift." Falloden shrugged his shoulders without reply.

He threw himself into a chair beside her, his knees crossed, his hands on the topmost knee, with the finger-tips lightly touching, an att.i.tude characteristic of him. The lamp which had been brought in to light the piano shone full upon him, and Constance perceived that, in spite of his self-confident ease of bearing, he looked haggard and pale with the long strain of the schools. Her own manner relaxed.

"Have you really done?" she asked, more graciously.

"I was in for my last paper this afternoon. I am now a free man."

"And you've got your First?"

He laughed.

"That only the G.o.ds know. I may just squeak into it."

"And now you've finished with Oxford?"

"Oh, dear, no! There's a fortnight more. One keeps the best--for the last."

"Then your people are coming up again for Commem.?" The innocence of the tone was perfect.

His sparkling eyes met hers.

"I have no domestic prospects of that sort," he said drily. "What I shall do with this fortnight depends entirely--on one person."

The rest of the room seemed full of a buzz of conversation which left them un.o.bserved. Connie had taken up her large lace fan and was slowly opening and closing it. The warm pallor of her face and throat, the golden brown of her hair, the grace of her neck and shoulders, enchanted the man beside her. For three weeks he had been holding desire in check with a strong hand. The tide of it rushed back upon him, with the joy of a released force. But he knew that he must walk warily.

"Will you please give me some orders?" he went on, smiling, seeing that she did not reply. "How has the mare been behaving?"

"She is rather tame--a little too much of the sheep in her composition."

"She wants a companion. So do I--badly. There is a little village beyond the Lathom Woods--which has a cottage--for tea--and a strawberry garden.

Shall we sample it?"

Constance shook her head laughing.

"We haven't an hour. Everybody asks us to parties, all day and all night long. London is a joke to Oxford."

"Don't go!" said Falloden impatiently. "I have been asked to meet you--three times--at very dull houses. But I shall go, of course, unless I can persuade you to do something more amusing."

"Oh, dear, no! We're in for it. But I thought people came here to read books?"

"They do read a few; but when one has done with them one feels towards them like enemies whom one has defeated--and insults. I chucked my Greek lexicon under the sofa, first thing, when I got back from the schools this afternoon."

"Wasn't that childish--rather? I am appalled to think how much you know."

He laughed impatiently.

"Now one may begin to learn something. Oxford is precious little use.

But it's not worth while being beaten--in anything. Shall we say Thursday, then?--for our ride?"

Constance opened her eyes in pretended astonishment.

"After the ball? Shall I be awake? Let's settle it on Wednesday!"

He could get no more definite promise from her, and must needs take his leave. Before he went, he asked her to keep the first four dances for him at the Marmion ball, and two supper-dances. But Constance evaded a direct a.s.sent. She would do her best. But she had promised some to Mr.

Pryce, and some to Mr. Radowitz.

Falloden's look darkened.