“Mr Jack,” said Mary, stopping: “if papa comes back before I am in, will you please tell him that I am at Colonel Beatty’s.”
“At what hour do you expect him?”
“Not until eleven, at soonest. I am almost sure to be back first; but if by any chance I should not be—”
“I will tell him,” said Jack. Mary passed on; and he watched them until Mrs Beatty’s carriage disappeared. Then he hurried indoors, and brought a heap of manuscript music into the room the ladies had just left. He opened the pianoforte and sat down before it; but instead of playing he began to write, occasionally touching the keys to try the effect of a progression, or rising to walk up and down the room with puckered brows.
He labored in this fashion until seven o’clock, when, hearing someone whistling in the road, he went out into the shrubbery, and presently came back with a soldier, not perfectly sober, who carried a roll of music paper and a case containing three clarionets.
“Now let us hear what you can make of it,” said Jack, seating himself at the piano.
“It’s cruel quick, that allagrow part is,” said the soldier, trying to make his sheet of music stand properly on Mary’s table easel. “Just give us your B fat, will you. Mister.” Jack struck the note; and the soldier blew. ‘“Them ladies’ singin’ pianos is always so damn low,” he grumbled. “I’ve drorn the slide as far as it’ll come. Just wait while I stick a washer in the bloomin’ thing.”
“It seems to me that you have been drinking instead of practising, since I saw you,” said Jack.
“S’ help me, governor, I’ve been practising all the afternoon. I only took a glass on my way here to set me to rights. Now, Mister, I’m ready.” Jack immediately attacked Mary’s piano with all the vigor of an orchestra; and the clarinet soon after made its entry with a brilliant cadenza. The soldier was a rapid expectant; his tone was fine; and the only varieties of expression he was capable of, the spirited and the pathetic, satisfied even Jack, who, on other points, soon began to worry the soldier by his fastidiousness.
“Stop,” he cried, “That is not the effect I want at all. It is not bright enough. Take the other clarinet. Try it in C.”
“Wot! Play all them flats on a clarinet in C! It can’t be done. Least ways I’m damned if I can — Hello! ‘Eire’s a gent for you, sir.”
Jack turned. Adrian Herbert was standing on the threshold, astonished, holding the handle of the open door. “I have been listening outside for some time,” he said politely. “I hope I do not disturb you.”
“No,” replied Jack. “Friend Charles here is worth listening to. Eh, Mr Herbert?”
Private Charles looked down modestly; jingled his spurs; coughed; and spat through the open window. Adrian did not appreciate his tone or his execution; but he did appreciate his sodden features, his weak and husky voice, and his barrack accent. Seeing a clarinet and a red handkerchief lying on a satin cushion which he had purchased for Mary at a bazaar, the looked at the soldier with disgust, and at Jack with growing indignation.
“I presume there is no one at home,” he said coldly.
“Miss Sutherland is at Mrs Beatty’s, and will not return until eleven,” said Jack, looking at Adrian with his most rugged expression, and not subduing his powerful voice, the sound of which always afflicted the artist with a sensation of insignificance. “Mrs Beatty and a lady who is visiting her called and brought her out with them. Mr Sutherland is at Eton, and will not be back till midnight. My pupil is still at Cambridge.”
“H’m” said Adrian. “I shall go on to Mrs Beatty’s. I should probably disturb you by remaining.”
Jack nodded and turned to the piano without further ceremony. Private Charles had taken one of Mary’s paint-brushes and fixed it upon the desk against his sheet of music, which was rolling itself up. This was the last thing Herbert saw before he left. As he walked away he heard the clarinet begin the slow movement of the concerto, a melody which, in spite of his annoyance, struck him as quite heavenly. He nevertheless hastened out of earshot, despising the whole art of music because a half-drunken soldier could so affect him by it.
Half a mile from the Sutherlands’ house was a gate, though which he passed into a flower-garden, in which a tall gentleman with sandy hair was smoking a cigar. This was Colonel Beatty, from whom he learnt that the ladies were in the drawing room. There he found his mother and Mrs Beatty working in colored wools, whilst Mary, at a distance from them, was reading a volume of Browning. She gave a sigh of relief as he entered.
“Is this your usual hour for making calls?” said Mrs Herbert, in response to her son’s cool “Good evening, mother.”
“Yes,” said he. “I cannot work at night.” He passed on and sat down beside Mary at the other end of the room. Mrs Beatty smiled significantly at Mrs Herbert, who shrugged her shoulders and went on with her work
“What is the matter, Adrian?” said Mary, in a low voice.
“Why?”
“You look annoyed.”
“I am not annoyed. But I am not quite satisfied with the way in which your household is managed in your absence by Mr Jack.”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Mary, “you too! Am I never to hear the last of Mr Jack? It is bad enough to have to meet him every day, without having his misdeeds dinned into my ears from morning till night.”
“I think an end should be put to such a state of things, Mary. I have often reproached myself for having allowed you to engage this man with so little consideration. I thought his mere presence in the house could not affect you — that his business would be with Charlie only. My experience of the injury that can be done by the mere silent contact of coarse natures with fine ones should have taught me better. Mr Jack is not fit to live with you, Mary.”
“But perhaps it is our fault. He has no idea of the region of thought from which I wish I never had to descend; but, after all, we have no fault to find with him. We cannot send him away because he does not appreciate pictures.”
“No. But I have reason to believe that he is not quite so well-behaved in your absence as he is when you are at home. When I arrived tonight, for instance, I, of course, went straight to your house. There I heard a musical entertainment going forward. When I went in I was greeted with a volley of oaths which a drunken soldier was addressing to Jack. The two were in the drawingroom and did not perceive me at first, Jack being seated at your pianoforte, accompanying the soldier, who was playing a flageolet. The fellow was using your table easel for a desk, and your palette knife as a paper weight to keep his music flat. Has Jack your permission to introduce his military friends whenever you are out?”
“Certainly not,” said Mary, reddening. “I never heard of such a thing. I think Mr Jack is excessively impertinent.”
“What is the matter?” said Mrs. Beattv, perceiving that her niece was vexed.
“Nothing, aunt,” said Mary hastily. “Please do not tell Aunt Jane,” she added in an undertone to Adrian.
“Why not’”
“Oh, she will only worry about it. Pray do not mention it. What ought we to do about it, Adrian?”
“Simply dismiss Mr Jack forthwith?”
“But — Yes, I suppose we should. The only difficulty is—” Mary hesitated, and at last added, “I am afraid he will think that it is out of revenge for his telling Charlie not to take his ideas of music from my way of playing it, and because he despises my painting.”
“Despises your painting! Do you mean to say that he has been