AT THE RELTON ARMS
BY EVELYN SHARP
BOSTON: ROBERTS BROS., 1895
LONDON: JOHN LANE, VIGO ST.
Copyright, 1895,
By Roberts Brothers.
University Press.
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge U. S. A.
AT THE RELTON ARMS.
CHAPTER I.
It was towards the end of a crowded reception in the musician's studio.Most of the people who had come from a sense of social obligation, andthey were chiefly the mothers of his fashionable pupils, had left whenthe musician began to play his own compositions; and those who remainedbehind, and occupied the position of the Greek chorus with regard to hisremarks, were his own chosen disciples, who were of course privileged tostay much longer than ordinary acquaintances. The musician, perhaps, hadno effectual means of suggesting their departure; but neither was theirhomage, being very womanly and obvious, unpleasing to him; and when thewell-dressed Philistines had driven away in their carriages, heabandoned the attitude of the debonair host and took up that of theprophet instead, which at once gave a serious turn to the conversation.He then propounded his own theories, or somebody else's, at greatlength, and the chorus assented with a gentle murmur of approbationwhenever there was a pause. Occasionally one of the elect would ask forsome music, and the musician would single out a pupil whom he consideredqualified to interpret what he had composed; and in the applause whichinvariably followed, the performer would be entirely eclipsed by thegreater importance of what she had performed.
"Isn't it a beautiful thing? Such depth," said Mrs. Reginald Routh,moving away from the piano where she had just been singing themusician's last song. It was an uncomfortable habit she had of alwaysanticipating what the other people would have said if she had only giventhem time to speak; and she had acquired it from living many years withan unmusical though wealthy husband, who only acknowledged his wife'smusical talents by sending large checks annually to the musician. Onthis occasion she caught the eye of some one who had just arrived, andrepeated her remark emphatically; for the new-comer was a stranger whohad unscrupulously interrupted the last verse of her song, and was nowabsorbed in prolonging the existence of a modicum of bitter tea, onesugar-plum, and a preserved cherry.
"Is it?" she answered hastily, seeing she was expected to say something."I suppose it is quite good, of course. Who is it by? I suppose youcan't say, though, without looking; and I haven't really the leastdesire to know. Talking of music," she continued blandly, chasing thesugar-plum round the saucer, "I have really had a treat this afternoonat St. James's Hall. Of course you have often heard Sapolienski? Don'task me how to pronounce him; I think another of the horrors added tomodern composers is the length of their names. But I'm ashamed to say Ihave never heard him before; I have been abroad, you see, and I am not abit musical either. I enjoyed it much more than I expected though, andyou should have seen the ovation he received at the end, ladies crowdingon to the platform and throwing their rings at him! Oh, no, I am clearlynot musical. But still, as he is the greatest musician of the day...."
Here Mrs. Reginald Routh found her opportunity, and used it.
"Oh, indeed? I have never h