And one was tempted, in amazement, to ask
how it came about that a woman so alert and intelligent, so conversant
with the world, so ready to note the ridiculous side of things, could
not understand what a poor and lamentable figure she made as an amateur
authoress? But had the Lady Sybil any less confidence in her musical
attainments, when she would undertake to play a duet with one of the
most distinguished of professional musicians, she on the violin, he at
the piano? And here, at this very moment, was Lady Rosamund talking to
by far and away the greatest painter in England, and there was a picture
before them on an easel, and she was saying to him, with perfect
coolness,
"Why, I see you use cadmium yellow, Mr. Mellord! I _never_ do."
Somehow an impression got abroad through these brilliant rooms that Mr.
Moore was going to sing; and at length Mrs. Mellord came to the young
man and frankly preferred her request.
"Oh, yes," said he, most good-naturedly.
"The serenade?" she ventured to hint.
"Oh, not the serenade!" said he, with a laugh. "Every butcher's boy in
the streets whistles it."
"All England is singing it--and a good thing, too," she made answer; and
then she said, with some emphasis: "I am sure no one rejoices more than
myself at the great popularity of 'The Squire's Daughter.
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