The Argosy — page 78: what you’re looking at

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58 The Missing Rubies. men and women. She was attracted by Beatrice, and set about the task of winning her at once. And her voice was so musical, her manner so confiding and sweet, that one must indeed have had an ungracious nature to have with- stood the spell. Beatrice felt herself soothed, and petted, and caressed by Madame Valerot’s look and tone, and yet her words had been only such ordinary sentences as one new acquaintance would naturally speak to another. The guests arrived: a clever barrister and his wife; a fashionable doctor ; a rising literary man; and a popular curate. Beatrice was allotted to the last, and very speedily came to the conclusion that he must be at his best in the pulpit. He bored herall the more because he admired her very much indeed. And good-natured Mrs. Wyville (who knew nothing of the engagement) had invited him on purpose that he might fall in love with her governess. But Beatrice, desperately exerting herself to be agreeable, was wearying all the while for the cosy parlour at home, and wondering what Godwin was doing with himself. Old acquaintances had begun to look him up again, and he no longer repelled their advances. His love for Beatrice had put him on good terms with the world, and she had ceased to dread any return of his morbid mood. He was dining out this evening, she believed, he had said something about the return of some Indian friend. And she only hoped that he was enjoying himself more than she was ! ‘ At last the dinner came to an end. It had gone off very well, indeed; and Madame Valerot’s grace and sweetness had so captivated the literary man, that he meant to make her the heroine of his next novel. The ladies passed through the curtained arch which divided the dining-room from the drawing-room, and Beatrice was presently desired to take her place at the piano. The men were attracted by the very first notes of that pure, fresh voice. The curate turned out to be musical, and began to burn to distinguish himself, the barrister’s wife played well, and these two engrossed a good deal of Miss Ward’s attention. Madame Valerot neither played nor sang ; and the literary man had established him- self by her side in a quiet corner. She sat in a low chair, holding a handscreen between her face and the fire, and looking up at him with those innocent brown eyes that had, at times, quite a child-like expression. At length Beatrice, being over-pressed by the curate, began to tax her memory for songs unsung. And at last there came into her head a simple little air which Vordenberg had taught her. It was plaintive and sweet ; even the novelist listened and was charmed; and the barrister’s keen face softened and seemed to look younger under the spell of the melody. But Madame Valerot was more deeply moved than any of the others, and it was easy to see that her emotion was quite genuine. comicbooks.com