There was an
abstracted look in her eyes as she raised them, and she seemed
unconscious of the applause following the last chords of the
accompaniment. She stood up, folding the music as she did so, and
unconsciously raised her eyes toward the port-hole where I was. Her
glance caught mine, and instantly a change passed over her face. The
effect of the song upon her was broken; she flushed slightly, and, as I
thought, with faint annoyance. I know of nothing so little complimentary
to a singer as the audience that patronisingly listens outside a room or
window,--not bound by any sense of duty as an audience,--between whom and
the artists an unnatural barrier is raised. But I have reason to think
now that Belle Treherne was not wholly moved by annoyance--that she had
seen something unusual, maybe oppressive, in my look. She turned to her
father. He adjusted his glasses as if, in his pride, to see her better.
Then he fondly took her arm, and they left the room.
Then I saw Mrs. Falchion's face at the port-hole opposite. Her eyes were
on me. An instant before, I had intended following Miss Treherne and her
father; now some spirit of defiance, some unaccountable revolution, took
possession of me, so that I flashed back to her a warm recognition.
Pages:
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82