CHAPTER XI.
Mrs. Low’sreceptions were more cordial and less formal than the usual social affairs. Glenn Andrews and Esther arrived late. The richest Oriental splendor surrounded them. There were a thousand rare souvenirs of foreign lands to please the eye. The colors in the tapestries and rugs were of that exquisitely tender hue that comes only from age. The largest rug, covered with inscriptions from Saadi, the Persian poet, seemed to have caught more of the charm and sentiment of the Orient. Glenn was calling Esther’s attention to it while they waited for a chance to speak to the hostess. Red lights glowed warmly through the iron-fretted lanterns swinging low. A hidden harpist was playingsoft, sweeping strains of sound. Mrs. Low caught a glimpse of the late arrivals. She met them with hands outstretched, a radiant smile of welcome upon her face.
“Ah, Glenn, Miss Powel; charmed, I assure you. Mr. Kent has been waiting to have this young lady accompany him,” she said, as that gentleman joined them.
“You came just in time, Miss Powel. Our friend, Mr. Andrews, has told me that you have been good enough to take the trouble to learn the ‘Serenade’ that is to be in our new opera. Mrs. Low has out-talked me and made me feel that my friends should be first to pass judgment before the critics get a chance.”
Esther hesitated a moment, smiling.
“That will be charming,” Glenn whispered to her, inclining his head. He smiled slightly as his eyes met hers.
His approval was what she had waited for—that was plain. The next moment she had graciously indicated her willingness by taking up herviolin that Mrs. Low had sent for before she came.
The sight of Stephen Kent at the piano and Esther beside him made the rooms silent in an instant and stilled the unseen harpist. Glenn Andrews kept close watch upon the crowd as it stood in mute attention. It was to note how she was received. He had forgotten his share in the honors. Stephen Kent sang the passionately poetic words; the exquisite commingling of the voice and violin suddenly awoke in the poet the thought of what sincerity of the soul there was in those words.
In the heat of the enthusiasm that followed the encore some one grasped Glenn Andrews’ hands. “And those lines are perfectly exquisite. I am wild to hear all of your libretto.”
“Oh, indeed!” he answered, staring, and that moment it was the effort of his life to know what she meant.
“Libretto?” he said to himself. “Oh, when I heard such playing I forgot I had written anything,”he declared, with a laugh. He was extremely shocked to discover that he had composed the words.
“Aren’t you a little crazy?” the expression on her face asked, as Mrs. Low came up and led him away. She had become devotedly attached to him during their life in Paris.
“If that is a fair sample of your opera, it will be most enchanting.” The hearty words carried with them something of the sincere interest she felt.
“You are very kind, Mrs. Low. Your approval is a great compliment to our poor efforts. You, of course, know its success means a better future to both of us; the financial part of it being of no slight importance.”
“It’s going to succeed; it has the merit and the backing. Give yourself no anxiety. Kent certainly has done his part well. It is his master effort.”
Mrs. Low sank deep in the gorgeous cushions and looked across to where Esther stood besieged.She was so unspoiled and direct of manner. There was something picturesquely Southern in her simple gown.
“Tell me something more about her. Is she in earnest or does she play with her art for the same reason that a kitten plays with her ball?”
“Oh, she is in dead earnest, Mrs. Low. She is overworking in her enthusiasm.”
Glenn caught Esther’s eye as he spoke. There was a touch of pathos in the smile.
“That will never do. You might persuade her to take it more slowly.” She stopped a moment, looking up with guarded eyes. Glenn Andrews was not big print to her. The depths of his nature had to be read between the lines. In her heart she wondered if he would resent the questioning.
He studied her magnificent repose, that matched his.
“She has genius. I have become quite interested in her already,” said Mrs. Low.
A shade of relief passed over Glenn’s features as he heard this.
“I have known her for years. The poor child has neither parents nor friends to restrain or aid her. She has not reached that point in her art where she can earn a dollar. I have been thinking many ways of trying to help her. It must be some way by which she feels that she is earning it. I know her so well.”
“It is not often that I ask such close questions, but this time it is because of my interest. What are you to her?”
Her tone did not imply idle curiosity. He clasped his hands thoughtfully.
“Honestly, I don’t know how to answer you. I am her friend, brother, critic—I suppose. If I had to select one word to express my relation to her, I should say, chaperone.”
“Chaperone,” she repeated, with charming grace. “That is a virgin field for a man’s possibilities, but since I think of it, I had a great dealrather trust some men I know to look after a child of mine than most women.”
“Coming here alone, as Miss Powel did, and with very little capital, it was hard for her to find herself face to face with the world. But she has determination. She actually steals hours from her rest. She must have relief from the strain or it will crush all the life out of her soul.”
“Oh, yes; something must be done,” answering his intensity with a sweet interest. “Couldn’t I help you in some way?”
He reflected seriously a moment.
“I believe you could. Suppose you got her to play here four times during the month and let her believe you had rewarded her by paying her twenty-five dollars each time. I would give you my check for the hundred dollars each month.”
“That will be just the thing. Later she will be able to get some good engagements at drawing room recitals.”
“Would you indeed be willing to let me helpher through you, Mrs. Low?” he asked, with some confusion.
“I am only too happy to be able to add that little to so loyal a project.”
“Thank you. Your co-operation means more to me than you can possibly imagine.”
“Your friend has been telling me of your work, and how brave you are,” Mrs. Low said, as she took Esther’s hand at parting. “I shall come soon to see you. I think I can add a little sunshine to your life.”