LONDON: SIDGWICK & JACKSON, LTD.
3 ADAM STREET, ADELPHI. MCMIX.
Entered at the Library of Congress, Washington, U.S.A.
All rights reserved.
1906-7
At Shapters, George Farrant's house in Hertfordshire.Ten o'clock on a Sunday evening in summer.
Facing you at her piano by the window, from which sheis protected by a little screen, sits Mrs. Farrant;a woman of the interesting age, clear-eyed and allher face serene, except for a little pucker of the browswhich shows a puzzled mind upon some importantmatters. To become almost an ideal hostess has beenher achievement; and in her own home, as now, thisgrace is written upon every movement. Her eyespass over the head of a girl, sitting in a low chair bya little table, with the shaded lamplight falling on herface. This is Lucy Davenport; twenty-three, undefeatedin anything as yet and so unsoftened. Thebook on her lap is closed, for she has been listeningto the music. It is possibly some German philosopher,whom she reads with a critical appreciation ofhis shortcomings. On the sofa near her loungesMrs. O'Connell; a charming woman, if by charmingyou understand a woman who converts every qualityshe possesses into a means of attraction, and has no usefor any others. On the sofa opposite sits Miss Trebell.In a few years, when her hair is quite grey,she will assume as by right the dignity of an old maid.Between these two in a low armchair is Lady Davenport.She has attained to many dignities. Motherand grandmother, she has brought into the worldand nourished not merely life but character. Awonderful face she has, full of proud memories andfearless of the future. Behind her, on a sofa betweenthe windows, is Walter Kent. He is just whatthe average English father would like his son to be.You can see the light shooting out through thewindows and mixing with moonshine upon asmooth lawn. On your left is a door. There aremany books in the room, hardly any pictures, astatuette perhaps. The owner evidently sets beautyof form before beauty of colour. It is a woman'sroom and it has a certain delicate austerity. By thetime you have observed everything Mrs. Farranthas played Chopin's prelude opus 28, number 20from beginning to end.
Lady Davenport. Thank you, my dear Julia.
Walter Kent. [Protesting.] No more?
Mrs. Farrant. I won't play for a moment longer thanI feel musical.
Miss Trebell. Do you think it right, Julia, to finishwith that after an hour's Bach?
Mrs. Farrant. I suddenly came over Chopinesque,Fanny; ... what's your objection? [as she sits by her.]
Frances Trebell. What ... when Bach has raisedme to the heights of unselfishness!
Amy O'Connell. [Grimacing sweetly, her eyes onlyhalf lifted.] Does he? I'm glad that I don't understandhim.
Frances Trebell. [Putting mere prettiness in itsplace.] One may prefer Chopin when one is young.
Amy O'Connell. And is that a reproach or a compliment?
Walter Kent. [Boldly.] I do.