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Updated: June 1, 2025
And yet, although she remained more calm than Mme. de Franquetot, it was not without some uneasiness that she followed the flying fingers; what alarmed her being not the pianist's fate but the piano's, on which a lighted candle, jumping at each fortissimo, threatened, if not to set its shade on fire, at least to spill wax upon the ebony.
After a further consideration of a few days he did act, and on the day of the piano's departure, which happened to be his next birthday, clandestinely placed the letter inside the packing-case, directed to his much-admired friend, being afraid to reveal the operation to his aunt Drusilla, lest she should discover his motive, and compel him to abandon his scheme.
Within an hour, from being filled with honeymoon hilarity, the house became filled with gloom. There was no more laughter no more running up and down the stairs and through the hallways the piano's song was silent. Mrs. De Peyster sought to gain some clue to this mysterious change by listening for the talk of Mary and Jack and Mr. Pyecroft as they passed her door.
The desultory striking of a piano's keys ceased abruptly, a girl's voice crying eagerly: "It's Roddy!" hinted at the identity of the listless player, a door flung open flooded the broad entrance hall with light.
The piano-tuner made them move it to the inner wall in the large, bright place that belonged to the cabinet. Mamma was annoyed because Mary had taken the piano-tuner's part. Mamma loved the cabinet. She couldn't bear to see it standing in the piano's dark corner where the green Chinese bowls hardly showed behind the black glimmer of the panes.
"Do you know if the piano's here yet?" asked a brisk looking matron in sky blue overalls. "Yep," nodded the tea girl. "When I came through, they were taking the cover off it, and fixing up the rest room." "Isn't it good to be back again!" said the brisk young matron to her neighbour. "Believe me or not, I haven't seen a dancing floor since I quit work here." Mrs.
That person below could certainly play the piano brilliantly, feelingly, with the touch and insight of an artist. Mrs. De Peyster's soul rose and fell with the soul of the song, and when the piano, after its uprushing, almost human closing cry, fell sharply into silence, she was for the moment that piano's vassal. Then she remembered who was the player.
Chepstow's sitting-room at the Savoy was decorated with pink and green in pale hues which suited well her present scheme of colour. In it there was a little rosewood piano. Upon that piano's music-desk, on the following day, stood a copy of Elgar's "Dream of Gerontius," open at the following words: "Proficiscere, anima Christiana, de hoc mundo! Go forth upon thy journey, Christian soul!
By this time, Mavis had mastered the piano's peculiarities; she played her second waltz resonantly, rhythmically. "I think you're up to 'Poulter's," said the little woman critically, when Mavis had finished. "And what about terms?" "What about them?" asked Mavis pleasantly. "It's a great honour being connected with 'Poulter's," the little woman hazarded. "No doubt."
Bushes and garden paths were plainly distinguished in the starlight. "It'll be light soon," said Diana, "and, at any rate, I can see quite well enough to ride. I shall just enjoy spinning along." "Be careful going down hills," urged Loveday. "By the by, you're on the early practising-list this morning had you forgotten?" "Oh, kafoozalum! So I am! Suppose Bunty comes to see why the piano's silent?
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