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She pretended to shudder, and a moment later seemed to forget him altogether. She pressed her cigarette out on her plate and went over to the piano, touching Cosgrave lightly on the shoulder as she passed him. "Come, my latest best-beloved, we 'ave to amuse ze company. We sing our leetle song together." But first she made a deep low bow to the shadowy theatre.
Richard did not reply, but hurried back to the darkened room, where everything was in order; even Ethie's work-box was in its usual place upon the little table, and Ethie's chair was standing near; but something was missing something besides Ethie and its absence made the room look bare and strange as the gas-light fell upon it. The piano was gone or moved.
She looked across at him, feeling for the first time a little anxious and uncertain of the success of her plan. "Of course, it'll sound very bald just played on the piano," she explained carefully. "You'll have to try and imagine the difference the orchestral part makes." Switching off the lights, so that nothing but the flickering glow of the fire illumined the room, she began to play.
A few minutes afterwards, the servants entered, the tea-table was removed, chairs were thrust back, a single lady of a certain age volunteered her services at the piano, and dancing began within the ample space which the arch fenced off from the whist-players.
They were those of the pianist, broad, strong and supple, and the new occupation soon engrossed him deeply; he gave up all his spare time to it, and, in a few months, attained so creditable a proficiency, that he went through a course of instruction with a local teacher of music, who, scenting talent, dismissed preliminaries with the assurance of his kind, and initiated his pupil into all that is false and meretricious in the literature of the piano the cheaply pathetic, the tinsel of transcription, the titillating melancholy of Slavonic dance-music to leave him, but for an increased agility of finger, not a whit further forward than he had found him.
"Well, all ready now, children!" called Mr. Treadwell when Mr. Brown had taken his seat. "Now for the last grand chorus then the final curtain and the play will be over!" Once more the piano played, and then the children, led by Lucile, lifted up their sweet voices in song. And it seemed to be a hymn of thanksgiving for the two children who had found their lost ones.
From opera to opera M. Cartel wandered, now humming a passage under his breath in accompaniment to his playing, again raising his soft, southern voice in an abandonment of enthusiasm. It was following close upon some such enthusiastic moment that Max rose, crossed the room, and taking a violin and bow from where they lay upon a wooden bench against the wall, carried them silently to the piano.
"Thank you," said John. After supper there was more singing in the drawing room, but it was not of a very classical order. Something short and taking for violin and piano was followed by an announcement from Herr Schlitz. "I zing you a zong," he said.
'Sit down, said Hummil. 'I didn't know that you had any music in your composition. Go on playing until you can't think of anything more. I'll have that piano tuned up before you come again. Play something festive.
Here the writer would protest against the practice common in many families, of having the daughters learn to play on the piano whether they have a taste and an ear for music, or not. A young lady who does not sing well, and has no great fondness for music, does nothing but waste time, money, and patience in learning to play on the piano.
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