They exchanged significant glances, and Miss Winthrop said, “Play the right music, Miss Brown.”
She struck into the music that Dennis held, but played it so out of time that no one could sing it. Dennis laid down his sheets on the piano and said quietly, though with flushed face: “I did not mean to be obtrusive. You all seemed greatly disappointed at Mr. Archer’s absence and the results, and I thought that in view of the emergency it would not be presumption to offer my services. But it seems that I am mistaken.”
“No, it is not presumption,” said Miss Winthrop. “It was true kindness and courtesy, which has been ill requited. But you see, to be frank, Mr. Fleet, we all fear that you do not realize what you are undertaking.”
“Must I of necessity be an ignoramus because, as Miss Brown says, I sweep a store?”
“Let me play the accompaniment,” said Christine, with the decided manner that few resisted, and she went correctly through the difficult and brilliant passage. Dennis followed his part with both eye and ear, and then said, “Perhaps I had better sing my part alone first, and then you can correct any mistakes.”
There was a flutter of expectation, a wink from Mr. Mellen, and an audible titter from Miss Brown.
“Certainly,” said Miss Ludolph, who thought to herself, “If he will make a fool of himself, he may;” and she played the brief prelude.
Then prompt at the proper moment, true to time and note, Dennis’s rich, powerful tenor voice startled and then entranced them all. He sung the entire passage through with only such mistakes as resulted from his nervousness and embarrassment.
At the close, all exclaimed in admiration save Miss Brown, who bit her lip in ill-concealed vexation, and said, with a half-sneer, “Really, Mr. What-is-your-name, you are almost equal to Blind Tom.”
“You do Blind Tom great injustice,” said Dennis. “I read my music.”
“But how did you learn to read music in that style?” asked Christine.
“Of course it took me years to do so. But no one could join our musical club at college who could not read anything placed before him.”
“It must have been small and select, then.”
“It was.”
“How often had you sung that piece before?” asked Miss Brown.
“I never saw it before,” answered Dennis.
“Why, it is just out,” said Christine.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, our troubles are over at last,” said Miss Winthrop. “Mr. Fleet seems a good genius—equal to any emergency. If he can sing that difficult passage, he can sing anything else we have. We had better run over our parts, and then to our toilets.”
One of the colorless young ladies played the accompaniments, her music making a sort of neutral tint, against which their rich and varied voices came out with better effect. They sung rapidly through the programme, Dennis sustaining his parts correctly and with taste. He could read like the page of an open book any music placed before him, and years of practice enabled him to sing true and with confidence. As he sung one thing after another with perfect ease, their wonder grew; and when, in the final duet with Christine, they both came out strongly, their splendid, thoroughly-trained voices blending in perfect harmony, they were rewarded with a spontaneous burst of applause, in which even Miss Brown was compelled to join.
Christine said nothing, but gave Dennis a quick, grateful glance, which amply repaid him for the martyrdom she had led him into that afternoon.
He acknowledged the plaudits of the others with a slight, cool bow, but her thanks with a warm flush of pleasure, and then turned to complete his arrangements as if nothing had happened. There was not the slightest show of exultation or of a purpose to demand equality, in view of what had taken place. His old manner returned, and he acted as if they were all strangers to him. They exchanged significant, wondering glances, and after a brief consultation retired to the dining-room, where coffee and sandwiches were waiting. Miss Winthrop and Christine sincerely hoped that Miss Brown would invite Dennis out, but she did not, and since it was her house, as she had said, they could not interfere. Dennis heard the clatter of knives and forks, and saw that he was again slighted; but he did not care now. Indeed, in the light of the sacred emblem before which he had stood, he had learned patience. He remembered how the rich and great of the world had treated his Master. Then, too, Christine’s kind, grateful glance seemed to fall upon him like a warm ray of sunlight.
When they had finished and were about to dress for their parts, Miss Brown put her head within the door and said, “You will find some lunch in the dining-room.”
Dennis paid no heed to her, but he heard Miss Winthrop say: “Really, Miss Brown, that is too bad after what he has done and shown himself to be. I wonder that he does not leave the house.”
“He will not do that until he is no longer needed,” said Christine.
“Then he may as soon as he chooses,” said Miss Brown. She was a girl of violent prejudices, and from her very nature would instinctively dislike such a person as Dennis Fleet.
“Well,” said Miss Winthrop, “he is a gentleman, and he gave the strongest proof of it when he quietly and modestly withdrew after achieving a success that would have turned anyone’s head, and that ought to have secured him full recognition.”
“I told you he was a gentleman,” said Christine, briefly, “and I consider myself a judge;” and then their voices passed out of hearing.
Dennis, having arranged everything so that he could place his hands readily upon it, found that he had half an hour to spare. He said to himself: “Miss Ludolph is wrong. I shall leave the house for a short time. I am a most unromantic individual; for, no matter what or how
