Like the fairy Pari-Banou's magic tent, which could shelter an army of ten thousand men, and yet was capable of being folded into the smallness of a handkerchief, what one calls "the world" shrinks and stretches to suit the individual case. Into the world of Polly and Patty Piper Lord Castlecombe and his family sorrows entered not at all. They might occasionally be viewed afar from the tent door; but even that distant recognition was not vouchsafed to them now, when the great event of the musical party absorbed the attention of the two sisters.

In addition to Miss Clara Bertram and Mr. Cleveland Turner, the occasion was to be graced by the presence of Signor Vincenzo Valli. He was on a visit to a noble family in Mr. Sweeting's neighbourhood, and had volunteered to accompany that gentleman and his protÉgÉ to Miss Piper's party. This honour, like other honours, was somewhat of a burthen as well as a distinction. The programme of the evening's performance, so carefully and anxiously arranged beforehand, must be modified to suit Signor Valli; who, if he condescended to sing at all, would do so only in accordance with his own caprice. And this would probably occasion difficulties; since, although Miss Bertram's amiability might be reckoned on, Mr. Cleveland Turner took a more stiff-necked view of his own importance, and would not be disposed to yield the pas to Valli. Still Miss Piper had no cowardly regrets on hearing of the distinction which was to befall her. She rose to the occasion, and was prepared to undergo almost any impertinence from the popular singing master with a Spartan smile.

"I ought to understand how to manage artists, if anybody does," said she, remembering the many cups of tea she had poured out for that irritable genus in old times.

But the crowning interest and glory of the evening to her would be the performance of an air from "Esther," which Miss Bertram had promised to sing. The Misses Piper had invited her to visit them at first from disinterested kindness; the young singer being tired with the work of the season, and in need of rest and change of air. Under these circumstances, both the sisters were too thoroughly gentlewomen to hint at her singing for them. But Clara Bertram, casting about in her mind for some way to show her gratitude to the kindly old maids, had herself proposed to sing "something from 'Esther.'" And the offer was too tempting to be refused.

The composition selected was of the most infantile simplicity, and could have been learned by heart in ten minutes. But a copy of it had been sent to town a fortnight ago for Miss Bertram to "study." And Mr. Simpson had been supposed to be "studying" the accompaniment for an equal length of time. In fact, the performance of the air from "Esther" was the original germ out of which the musical party at Garnet Lodge had been developed.

Clara Bertram arrived in Oldchester the morning before the great day: partly in order that she might not be over-tired, and partly to give the opportunity for a rehearsal of the air with Mr. Simpson. "Oh, I'm sure we need not trouble Mr. Simpson," Clara began thoughtlessly. "It is certain to go all right." But Miss Polly would not allow such a lax view of responsibility.

"Excuse me, my dear," she said, "but the music of 'Esther' is not quite a drawing-room ballad. Not that you will not sing it charmingly—perfectly! There is no doubt about that. But there is a certain breadth—a certain style of phrasing, necessary for sacred music. It is most important that the accompanist should understand your reading of the air. Indeed, I am anxious to hear it myself. I have my own idea as to the proper rendering of the opening phrase, 'Hear, O King, and grant me my petition!' But I shan't say a word until I have heard you. Your idea may be better than mine; Ha, ha, ha! Who knows? 'Hear, O King, and grant——?' My own notion would be to begin softly—almost sotto voce—in a timid manner: 'Hear, O King;' and then to rise into a crescendo as the strain proceeds 'and grant me my Petition!' But I won't say a word. You must sing it as you feel it."

May was, by special favour, admitted to the rehearsal. She had called to see Clara Bertram on the afternoon of her arrival, and was ushered into the long, low, old-fashioned drawing-room, where she found Miss Piper seated at one end of it, amid a wilderness of rout-seats, and Mr. Sebastian Bach Simpson at the piano, near to which Miss Bertram was standing.

"Oh, it's dear May Cheffington!" said Miss Piper, who had turned round sharply at the opening of the door. "Yes, yes; come in, my dear. Not at home to anybody else, Rachel! Not to anybody, do you hear? Now come and sit down by me, my dear. She is going to try 'Hear, O King.' Very glad to see you; you are so sympathetic, and such a favourite with Clara! There now, don't make her talk! Nothing worse for the voice than talking. Come and sit down."

May was, indeed, scarcely allowed to exchange greetings with her friend, who whispered smilingly, "We'll have our chat by-and-by."

Then Mr. Simpson struck up the first chords of the symphony, and there was breathless silence. He had not played three bars, however, before Miss Piper jumped up and ran to the piano.

"Oh, I beg pardon, Mr. Simpson, for offering a suggestion to so sound a musician as yourself, but don't you think a little more stress might be laid on that chord of the diminished seventh? It prepares the way, you see, for the pleading tone of the composition. Le-da, de-da—like that! Oh, thank you! Quite my meaning. Please go on."

But Mr. Simpson did not proceed far without receiving another "suggestion."

"A little more force and fulness, don't you think, in that resolution of the discord? I should like a richer effect."

"I don't know how to make it richer," rasped out Mr. Simpson. "It is the simple common chord, just four notes—C, E, G, C. I sounded 'em all. I can play the bass as an octave, if you think that'll be any richer."

"Oh, thank you! Yes, I really think it will. You see 'Esther' was scored for full orchestra, and the composer's ear hankers after the instrumental effects. But that octave in the bass is a great improvement. Many thanks!"

And in this fashion the symphony was at length got through.

Then Clara uplifted her pure, clear voice, and sang. May listened in delight. Surely Miss Polly must be enchanted! Even Mr. Simpson's hard visage relaxed, as the thrilling notes rose in sweet pathetic pleading. When they ceased, he wheeled round on the music-stool, and exclaimed with the most unwonted fervour, "It's the loveliest soprano voice I've heard since your great namesake, Clara Novello. Some of your notes remind me of her altogether. Not that I expect to hear anything quite like her 'Let the Bright Seraphim,' on this side of paradise."

May turned to Miss Piper. But, to her astonishment, Miss Piper's face did not express unmingled delight. There was some slight and indefinable shade on it.

"Well, I do think that is most beautiful," said May.

"Do you, my dear? Do you really?"

"Why, how is it possible to think otherwise, Miss Piper? No one could, surely!"

"Well, it is very kind of you to say so, my dear; and, to be frank, it shows a power of appreciation not quite common at your age. Of course it would be affectation on my part, at this time of day, and with my reputation behind me, to say I am surprised. But I am gratified, very much gratified. And don't you think Miss Bertram did her part delightfully?"

May looked at her blankly, unable to say a word in reply. Fortunately, no reply was needed, for Miss Piper bustled up to Clara and thanked her, and praised her. But still her manner fell decidedly short of its usual cordial heartiness. At length, with many apologies and flowery speeches, she begged that the air might be repeated, if Clara were sure it would not tire her; and, this being at once conceded, she asked, hesitatingly, "And would you mind if I offered a little suggestion? Just a hint!"

"Certainly not, dear Miss Piper! I will do my best to carry out your idea."

"Oh, that is so sweet of you! Thank you a thousand times! If Mr. Simpson will kindly oblige us once more——? Now, you see, it is just here, on that G in alt, where the voice rises on the words, 'Grant, oh, grant me my petition!' The sound 'grant,' according to my original conception, should be given with a sort of wail—not, of course, an unmusical sound, but just with a tinge of sadness expressive of the then miserable and depressed condition of the Jewish nation, and at the same time with a tone—an underlying tone, as it were—conveying the latent hope (which really was in Queen Esther's mind all along, you know) that by her efforts brighter days might yet be in store for them. You feel what I mean?"

"I will try my best," answered Clara gently. And then she sang the air again—precisely as she had sung it before.

"Now," cried Miss Piper, jumping up and clapping her hands in an ecstasy of triumph, "it is perfect—absolutely perfect!"

She poured out unstinted thanks and compliments to both singer and accompanist, observing to the latter that this recalled the great days of the public performance of "Esther," and that she considered Miss Bertram's rendering of "Hear, O King," far superior to that of the well-known vocalist who had sung it originally. "But then, you see, she could not, or would not, take a hint. Consequently—although, of course, she sang the notes perfectly—she never fully mastered my conception. Now a word has been enough to show Miss Bertram the inner meaning of my music; and she interprets it in the most exquisite manner."

Before going away May contrived to have a few words with Clara Bertram in her room.

"It is such a pleasure to hear you sing again," said May. "How I wish Granny could hear you!"

"Will not your grandmother be here to-morrow evening?"

"Oh no," answered May, colouring. "She does not go out to parties. Granny does not belong to the class of the ladies and gentlemen who come here. Her husband was a tradesman in this town. But she is the finest creature in the world. And she has more real dignity than any one I know."

"Your grandmother lives here? But then—how is it—your mother is not a foreigner?"

"A foreigner? Good gracious! No. My mother was Miss Susan Dobbs. She died years ago, when I was a little child. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing. I fancied—Valli said something about having known Madame Cheffington abroad."

"That was possible. My parents lived abroad for years. My father is on the Continent now. I and the two little brothers before me were born in Belgium."

"Oh! I suppose that must be it," said Clara slowly. "Valli talks at random sometimes."

"Signor Valli talks very much at random if he ever said my mother was a foreigner. By the way, do you know he is to be here to-morrow evening?"

"Yes; so I hear."

"You do not hear it with rapture, apparently."

"No; I do not like him very much."

"He likes you very much, if appearances may be trusted," said May laughingly.

"He is always making love to me after his fashion. That is why I do not like him."

Clara spoke gravely, but with her habitual serenity. There was something in her manner which seemed to be akin to her voice; something clear, but not cold: a crystal with the sun in it.

"Oh, that is hideous, isn't it?" cried May, with eager fellow-feeling. "When people want to marry you, and you shudder at the bare idea of marrying them."

"I don't think Valli wants to marry me," answered Clara calmly. "Indeed, I believe he feels a great deal of hostility towards me at times. He is never satisfied unless his pupils will, more or less, flirt with him—a kind of philandering which I object to. Besides, it wastes one's time. But he has been spoiled more than you would believe by fashionable ladies. I suppose you never read much of George Sands' writings?"

"No," answered May, opening great eyes of wonder.

"Nor I, except 'Consuelo,' and the sequel to it. I read them for the musical part, which is wonderfully good. Well, in the 'Comtesse de Rudolstadt' there is a certain Monsieur de Poelnitz, of whom it is said that en qualitÉ d'ex-rouÉ il n'aimait pas les filles vertueuses. It always seems to me that Valli, in his quality of philanderer, dislikes women who won't flirt, whether he wants to flirt with them himself or not."

"How odious! How despicable!"

"And yet he has his good qualities. He is very faithful and generous to his family, and sends a great part of his earnings to them in their little Sicilian village."

Then, seeing that May still looked very much shocked and astonished, Clara added, in a lighter tone, "But let us talk of something more pleasant. You were speaking of your grandmamma. If you think she would like it, I should be so glad to go and sing to her at her own home."

"Like it! Of course she would like it! And I scarcely know how to thank you as you ought to be thanked, for fear of sounding like Miss Piper!"

Clara smiled. "Miss Piper and her sister are both very kind to me," she said.

"Yes; but I wish Miss Polly wasn't so ridiculous. Of course, her music is poor and silly. It is only your beautiful singing that makes it sound well. But then you could make 'Baa, baa, blacksheep,' sound well! And then to hear the outrageous, conceited nonsense she talks——! I wonder that you can endure it so meekly. I couldn't!" answered May, with the trenchant intolerance of her eighteen years.

"Oh yes, you could, under the circumstances. I am only too glad to give the kind old lady any pleasure. And she is not so outrageously conceited—for an amateur. But now I fear I must turn you out, much as I should like you to stay; for Miss Piper sent me upstairs to lie down; and if she finds I am not doing so, I shall have to drink another cupful of Miss Patty's excellent beef-tea, which is so strong, it makes me feel quite tipsy!"