And now from her white throat stole a murmur of sweet sound, swelling
gradually to a full, round sweetness, rising to a passion of sorrow
and heartbreak, and dying to a sigh, was gone.
For a long moment after the final liquid note had died away was utter
stillness, an awed silence; then some one ventured to clap, others
joined in, and upon this sound came shouts, cries, cheer on cheer--a
frantic ovation.
"By Gad, Perry," exclaimed my uncle George, blinking moist lashes.
"She--she can sing, ye know! What I mean is she can--sing, b'gad! What
d' you say, Jervas?"
"That you are exactly right, George, she can sing!" answered my uncle
Jervas softly. "She and her voice are one in beauty. And she signals
you, Perry, I think!"
"Be off, Peregrine!" said my uncle George. "Be off, lucky dog--London
will run mad--she'll be the reigning toast to-morrow."
The Army and the Navy yielded her to me with a somewhat bad grace, and
her slim fingers on my arm guided me through the throng to a deep
curtained window recess, and in this comparative seclusion she turned
and faced me, and I saw that she was trembling a little.
"Peregrine," she murmured, wistful and eager, "am I changed very
much--too much? I have worked--so hard and all--all for you--O
Peregrine--dear--do I truly please you?"
"Please me!" I mumbled. "Oh, my Diana--!" Her lashes drooped and then,
as she swayed to me, I clasped her in my arms and, tremulous,
fragrant, vital with love and youth, she gave her lips to mine.
Pages:
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372