Chapter 3 No.3

Lord Alison was dying. Society knew it, and was languidly interested in the fact. One fact, however, afforded it far greater interest and satisfaction. That fact was the succession to the title. Everyone said the heir was a lucky fellow; and if everyone was poorer than the heir would be, he uttered the words enviously. If, however, he had greater possessions, he affected to be condescendingly glad at the luck of the lucky fellow in question.

"SO FORTUNATE, YOU KNOW."

"So fortunate, you know, my dear," said the afternoon tea consumers; "Arthur Dalziel may propose at last with good hope of success. Lady Hester could never refuse; besides, her father would never permit her to."

So they settled it in Society.

But Society, though generally infallible in its deliverances on such nice points, had a few rude shocks in store for it in this instance.

Lady Hester Trenoweth did not love Arthur Dalziel, but she loved Arthur Dalziel's ward, a young violinist who had begun to create quite a furore in the fashionable world. In fact, Giovanni had become the rage, and though some said it was preposterous that a young man in his position should adopt music as a profession, they were nasty, old-fashioned creatures who knew nothing of the nobility of a life lived for the sake of art. That is quite a modern notion, by the way, so these ancient gossips must be pardoned. They did not know of Lady Hester's appalling preference, or their venom would have been seventy times more virulent. They did not know of Lady Hester's preference, and consequently they permitted themselves to talk freely in Giovanni's hearing of the projected match between her and his guardian, dwelling on Dalziel's well-known attachment and the barrier that his lack of a title had placed upon the union.

Giovanni heard, turned slightly pale, and tuned his instrument for the next number on the programme. A string broke with a harsh snap. He had overstrained it. "Never mind," he said, "it can be easily replaced." No one observed the emphasis on the it. Perhaps excitement caused the accentuation of the monosyllable.

In another part of the room Arthur Dalziel, slightly older-looking, but handsomer, stood talking with Lord Trenoweth.

"The boy plays marvellously," said the old peer; "he's a credit to you, Dalziel."

"He'll make his bread by it, easily, if need be," returned Dalziel.

"You have not decided, then, whether he's to come right out as a professional or not?"

"Not quite; but it's more than likely he will."

"Most providential he has the gift. He'd have been a sad burden to you otherwise. You picked him up most romantically, I remember--"

"Telegram for Mr. Dalziel," said a waiter.

Arthur glanced at it hastily and handed it to Lord Trenoweth.

The old lord read it carefully. Then he shook hands warmly with his companion, saying, in an undertone: "She's yours, my lord; she's yours."

Thereupon Dalziel quietly withdrew, and Society heard from Lord Trenoweth that Lord Alison was dead. Society smiled and awaited further developments, feeling quite certain what these would be, and, for once in a way, grievously miscalculating.

Giovanni would be twenty-one the next day, the day on which Dalziel had determined that justice should be done: but that night Giovanni and he each attended a funeral. Neither funeral was Lord Alison's. Dalziel interred, dry-eyed, an old, good resolution; Giovanni buried, with one or two bitter tears, his young heart's first love.

"I owe him everything I have," said the young man: "it is little that I should sacrifice something for his sake. Doubtless she cares nothing for me, the humble artist. I shall try to be happy in my benefactor's happiness."

"He can easily win fortune and a name with his music," Dalziel told himself: "he has nothing to lose, and he owes me his training. Besides, I cannot give her up. She must accept me. No woman in her senses could do otherwise. Justice-faugh! it's all on my side."

Such were the dirges at the two funerals.

Courtesy to Lord Alison's memory demanded the postponement for a time of the celebration of Giovanni's coming of age, so that birthday of his was a somewhat dull one. He said he would go out of town for a little. Dalziel consented, and his ward left early in the morning.

Among the letters at breakfast-time Dalziel observed one for Giovanni-a dirty, greasy, plebeian-looking thing. He turned it over curiously and then, scarcely knowing what he did, opened and read it. It contained an offer to restore to Giovanni, for a consideration, a document that would disclose the mystery of his origin. Dalziel did not hesitate what course to take. He arranged an interview with the unknown correspondent, and in a few hours was put in possession of the lost paper.

Giovanni's chances of justice were small enough now. Blind to Lady Hester's indifference, Dalziel persisted in his wooing, and Lord Trenoweth was only too proud to countenance a match with the new Lord Alison. At last the girl yielded to her father's commands and her admirer's entreaties. She fancied it was the common lot of women to be sacrificed so; then, too, Giovanni had spoken no word of hope to her. She would submit and do her duty. Society smiled very sagely over the engagement, and said: "I told you so: she is too sensible a girl to resist long."

The time of mourning was over. Lord Alison was to give a very select musical evening. It still wanted some weeks to the wedding. Giovanni, Lord Alison's nephew ("though he's not his nephew, really," said the knowing world), was to play twice. His second piece on the programme was left without a name. "He will improvise, most likely," said the writers of Society gossip, and they whetted their pencils for praise.

That blank number was intended as a surprise for Alison. Since the night when Giovanni was found on the doorstep, he had never seen the scrap of old MS. music from which his protector had played the air that brought them together. Dalziel declared he had lost it, and though seemingly shy of mentioning the fragment, would sometimes regret that he could not properly recollect it.

Giovanni recollected it perfectly, however, and had been familiar with it since ever he could remember, though how or where he had learned it he could not say. Latterly he had a dim suspicion that Dalziel must have composed it, and was consequently shy of speaking about it. His memory was marvellous, and he had written in full the piano part that his benefactor had played to him so long ago. Lady Hester was to be his accompanist, so he took her into his confidence, fancying, poor boy, that she would be delighted at the surprise in store for her betrothed. She gave him a look that he could not understand, and murmured something about the subtle spell of old melodies. Giovanni, for answer, took up his instrument and the practising proceeded. Loyalty to his friend made him purse his lips very tight that afternoon. It was their last meeting before the concert-before the wedding, in fact. They had been boy and girl friends, and such ties always get a wrench when marriage comes to one or other and leaves one stranded. It is a wrench where there has been nothing but friendship; where love is, it is a very rending of the heart-strings. Giovanni at length rose to go.

"Good-bye, Hester; it's the last time I may call you so."

"Good-bye, Giovanni."

"GOOD-BYE, HESTER."

They would meet again in the crowded saloons of Lord Alison's mansion, but this was to be their true farewell. Something in her tones, in her look, thrilled the young man. He gazed into her eyes and read her heart.

"Hester!"

"Giovanni!"

"But I must not," she said, at length; "I have promised to marry Lord Alison."

"And, Hester, it's a strange request; but you must promise me to marry no one but Lord Alison!"

"I know what you mean, Giovanni; I fear it must be so, now that my word is pledged. Oh, if we had only discovered sooner!"

"We meet again at the concert. Good-bye, Hester!"

"Good-bye, Giovannino, good-bye!"