CHAPTER XXII.
TWO SONG BIRDS.
Percy Levant bowed and went to the piano, and Mr. Spenser Churchill walked across the drawing-room and took a seat immediately beside Doris.
“I hope you like my young friend?” he said, in his softest voice, and glancing affectionately toward him as he stood by the piano talking to Lady Despard.
“I have seen so little of him,” said Doris, “but he is very agreeable.”
“Yes. Ah, my poor Percy!” he sighed. “Poor boy! He has suffered so much—so much! There should be sympathy between you two, my dear young lady, for he hasknown what it is to lose his dearest. I should move your heart if I were to tell you what sorrow and trouble have fallen to my poor young friend’s lot, and win your admiration and esteem for him if I recounted the many difficulties he has had to encounter. It has been a hard world for him, a hard life, poor fellow! I do so hope you and Lady Despard will like him.”
Doris remained silent, but the softly-spoken words had something of the effect their speaker intended, and she looked toward the young man with increased interest.
“I think, with the exception of myself, he has scarcely a friend in the wide world,” said Spenser Churchill, sipping his tea and sighing. “I am counting so much on your and Lady Despard’s sympathy, my dear Miss Marlowe! A word of encouragement from such kind hearts as yours will go far to console him for the cruel disappointments he has endured. Ah! he is going to sing, I see! Now you will see if I spoke too highly of his voice and abilities.”
Percy Levant was certainly going to sing, but he seemed somehow loth to begin. For a few minutes his fingers strayed over the keys irresolutely, then he struck a chord and commenced.
He had chosen not an elaborate specimen of the flowery school, but a simple Brittany ballad, and he sang it exquisitely. Doris, as she listened to the long-drawn notes that seemed to float on eider wings through the room, felt a singular sensation at her heart. It was as if this stranger had defined the trouble of her young life, and had put it into music! With tightly compressed lips she sat fighting back the tears that threatened to flood her eyes, her hands closely clasped in her lap, her eyes fixed on the ground, unconscious that Mr. Spenser Churchill’s eyes were covertly fixed on her with a keen watchfulness.
The last notes of the song died away, and Lady Despard’s soft, languid voice poured out her praise.
“Oh, but that is very, very beautiful, Mr. Levant; and you have a lovely voice! How kind of you to come and sing to us! And I am so grateful to Mr. Churchill for bringing you! You must sing again, must he not, Doris?”
He had risen and bowed to Lady Despard, but his dark eyes looked beyond her, and sought Doris’ face.
Her lips trembled, but she forced a smile; taking it as a request, he returned to the piano and sang again.
Lady Despard was in raptures, but he prevented her asking for another song by going across to Doris.
“Lady Despard will not play; will you?” he said. “You are not afraid now?”
“Yes, more than afraid,” she said, with a smile.
“Will you sing with me? Here is a duet!” he said, quietly, his eyes downcast.
“Do, dear!” said Lady Despard. “Miss Marlowe sings like a professional, Mr. Levant.”
Doris rose reluctantly, and he led her to the piano.
Mr. Spenser went and sat beside Lady Despard, and began to talk to her in an earnest but softly persuasive tone. The two voices at the piano rose and fell in harmony, and seemed to act as an accompaniment to his.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” said Lady Despard. “Their singing together is simply delicious!”
“And if your ladyship assents to my proposal, they can sing together as often as you please!” he murmured, insinuatingly.
She laughed and nodded.
“That’s true! Oh, yes, just as you like. I’m sure he is most interesting, and such a perfect gentleman!”
“Ah! yes,” said Mr. Spenser Churchill; “I would not have brought him to you if he had been anything less. And it is settled, then?”
“Yes,” nodded her ladyship.
He rose at once and looked at his watch.
“I will make all arrangements,” he said, in a low voice. “Say nothing to him to-night.”
The two men said good-night, and Percy Levant found himself outside, his brain in a whirl, his heart beating wildly.
“Well, may one ask your highness what you think of my ward now?” said Spenser Churchill, softly.
Percy Levant thrust his hands in his pockets.
“Has she been ill, or is it trouble that makes her look like that?” he asked, in a grave, thoughtful tone.
“Trouble,” said Spenser Churchill. “Poor girl. Yes,she has been ill, too; but she is better, and the change will completely set her up, I hope.”
“Change?”
“Yes,” he purred. “She and Lady Despard go to Italy next week,” and he smiled as he struck the blow and saw Percy wince.
“To Italy next week!” He turned upon him. “What are you scheming? What are you doing? Why did you take me to see her to-night, if——Do you think I am made of stone; that, like yourself, I’ve no heart! To Italy!”
“Yes,” murmured Spenser Churchill, “and I have arranged that you shall go with them——”
Percy Levant started again, and, stopping, confronted him with a pale, eager face.
“What?”
“Yes, exactly! You are to go with them as—what shall we say?—friendly cavalier, courier, what you will—anything will serve as an excuse. What do you say? Perhaps, after all, you regret your bargain! If so, say so, and I’ll release you.”
Percy Levant caught him by the shoulder and held him in a savage grip.
“You—you devil!” he said, fiercely, almost wildly. “You know that I cannot! If I had not seen her I might have had the strength; but now——”
He withdrew his hand, and, almost thrusting the other man away from him, strode on.