Course succeeded course, in rapid succession, and there was
no particular fault to find with anything, but the utter want of
ceremony--the mingling of well-known and aristocratic names with the
boot and shoe trade--and the way in which the Baron and Baroness ate
and drank, filled him with surprise. The climax was reached when Mr.
Milliken, who was late for dinner, entered the room, and his hostess,
before introducing him to the stranger, saluted him with a resounding
smack on either cheek. Pennell thought it might be his turn next, and shuddered. But the wine
flowed freely, and the Baroness, being in an undoubted good humour,
the hospitality was unlimited. After dinner, the Baron having settled
to sleep in an armchair, Madame Gobelli proposed that the party should
amuse themselves with a game of “Hunt the slippers.”

She was robed in an expensive satin dress, but she threw herself down
on the ground with a resounding thump, and thrusting two enormous feet
into view, offered her slipper as an inducement to commence the game. Pennell stood aloof, battling to restrain his laughter at the comical
sight before him. The Baroness’s foot, from which she had taken the
shoe, was garbed in a black woollen stocking full of holes, which
displayed a set of bare toes. But, apparently quite unaware of the
ludicrous object she presented, she kept on calling out for Harriet
Brandt and Miss Wynward to come and complete the circle at which only
Mr. Milliken and herself were seated. But Harriet shrank backwards and
refused to play. “No! indeed, Madame, I cannot. I do not know your English games!” she
pleaded. “Come on, we’ll teach you!” screamed Madame Gobelli, “’ere’s Milliken,
’e knows all about it, don’t you, Milliken? ’E knows ’ow to look for
the slipper under the gal’s petticoats. You come ’ere, ’Arriet, and sit
next me, and Mr. Pennell shall be the first to ’unt. Come on!”

But Miss Brandt would not “come on”. She remained seated, and declared
that she was too tired to play and did not care for _les jeux
innocents_, and she had a headache, and anything and everything, before
she would comply with the outrageous request preferred to her. Madame Gobelli grumbled at her idleness and called her disobliging, but
Anthony admired the girl for her steadfast refusal. He did not like to
see her in the familiar society of such a woman as the Baroness--he
would have liked still less to see her engaged in such a boisterous and
unseemly game as “Hunt the slipper.”

He took the opportunity of saying,

“Since you are disinclined for such an energetic game, Miss Brandt,
perhaps you would oblige me by singing a song! I should so much like to
hear the mandoline. Mrs. Pullen has spoken to me of your efficiency on
it.”

“If Madame Gobelli wishes it, I have no objection,” replied Harriet. “Oh! well! if you are all going to be so disagreeable as not to play a
good game,” said the Baroness, as Mr. Milliken pulled her on her feet
again, “’Arriet may as well sing to us! But a good romp first wouldn’t
’ave done us any ’arm!”

She adjourned rather sulkily to a distant sofa with Mr. Milliken,
where they entertained each other whilst Harriet tuned her mandoline
and presently let her rich voice burst forth in the strains of “Oh! ma Charmante.” Anthony Pennell was enchanted. He had a passion for
music, and it appealed more powerfully to him than anything else. He
sat in rapt attention until Harriet’s voice had died away, and then he
implored her to sing another song. “You cannot tell what it is for me, who cares more for music than for
anything else in this world, to hear a voice like yours. Why! you will
create a perfect _furore_ when you go into society. You could make your
fortune on the stage, but I know you have no need of that!”

“Oh! one never knows what one may have need of,” said Harriet gaily, as
she commenced “Dormez, ma belle”, and sang it to perfection. “You must have had a very talented singing-master,” observed Pennell
when the second song was finished. “Indeed no! My only instructress was a nun in the Ursuline Convent
in Jamaica. But I always loved it,” said the girl, as she ran over
the strings of her mandoline in a merry little tarantelle, which made
everyone in the room feel as if they had been bitten by the spider from
which it took its name, and wanted above all other things to dance. How Pennell revelled in the music and the performer! How he longed to
hear from her own lips that Ralph’s treatment had left no ill effects
behind it. When she had ceased playing, he drew nearer to her, and under the
cover of the Baroness’s conversation with Mr. Milliken and the Baron’s
snores, they managed to exchange a few words. “How can I ever thank you enough for the treat you have given me!” he
began. “I am very glad that you liked it!”

“I was not prepared to hear such rare talent! My experience of young
ladies’ playing and singing has not hitherto been happy. But you have
great genius. Did you ever sing to Mrs. Pullen whilst in Heyst?”

“Once or twice.”

“And to my cousin, Ralph Pullen?”

“Yes!”

“I cannot understand his having treated the Baroness with such scant
courtesy. And you also, who had been kind enough to allow him to enjoy
your society. You would not have found me so ungrateful. But you have
heard doubtless that he is going to be married shortly!”

“Yes! I have heard it!”

“And that has, I suppose, put everything else out of his head! Perhaps
it may be as well, especially for his future wife. There are some
things which are dangerous for men to remember--such as your lovely
voice, for example!”

“Do you think so?” Harriet fixed her dark eyes on him, as she put the
question. “I am sure it will be dangerous for me, unless you will give me leave
to come and hear it again. I shall not be able to sleep for thinking
of it. Do you think the Baroness will be so good as to enrol me as a
visitor to the house?”

“You had better ask her!”

“And if she consents, will you sing to me sometimes?”

“I am always singing or playing! There is nothing else to do here. The
Baron and Baroness are almost always out, and I have no company but
that of Bobby and Miss Wynward. It is terribly dull, I can tell you. I
am longing to get away, but I do not know where to go.”

“Have you no friends in England?”

“Not one, except Mr. Tarver, who is my solicitor!”

“That sounds very grim. If you will let me count myself amongst your
friends, I shall be so grateful.”

“I should like it very much! I am not so ignorant as not to have heard
your name and to know that you are a celebrated man. But I am afraid I
shall prove a very stupid friend for you.”

“I have no such fear, and if I may come and see you sometimes, I shall
count myself a very happy man.”

“I am generally alone in the afternoon,” replied Miss Brandt,
sophistically. In another minute Mr. Pennell was saying good-night to his hostess and
asking her permission to repeat his visit at some future time.