And the bird's voice nearly drowned the murmur and the clamour of the
dining-room. Mr. Carew, resplendent in evening clothes, displayed upon
his shirt front the badge of the Spanish Society (a golden medal hung by
a silken band). It was formed and founded by the banker and he was proud
of his creation.
"Who would ever suppose that father didn't like company? Whoever would
think that you could be afraid of father!"
Suave, eloquent, Carew beamed upon his guests, and his little daughter
admired him extravagantly. His hair and beard were beautiful. Touching
the medal on his breast, Carew said--
"Carez is the old name, Cedersholm."
Cedersholm! Bella stared and listened.
"Yes, Carez, Andalusian, I believe, to be turned later in England into
Carew; and the bas-relief is an excellent bit of sculpturing."
Mr. Carew undid the medal and handed it to the guest on his right.
"Here, Cedersholm, what do you think of the bas-relief?"
Cedersholm, already famous in New York, faced Bella Carew and she saw
him plainly. This was the sculptor who could give Cousin Antony his
start, "his fair chance." He did not look a great man, as Bella thought
geniuses should look; not one of the guests looked as great and
beautiful as Cousin Antony. Why didn't they have him to the dinner, she
wondered loyally. Hasn't he got money enough? Perhaps because he was
lame.
Jetty was lame. He had broken his leg in the bars once upon a time. How
he sang! From his throat poured one ecstatic roulade after another, one
cascade after another of liquid delicious sweetness. Fields, woods,
copses, and dells; sunlight, moonlight, seas and streams, all, all were
in Jetty's passion of song.
Gardiner had left his sister's side and stood under the bird-cage gazing
up with an enraptured face. He made a pretty, quaint figure in the
deserted room, in his gingham apron and his untidy blonde hair.
Bella heard some one say, "What wonderful singing, Mrs. Carew." And she
looked at her mother for the first time. The lady was all in white with
a bit of old black point crossed at her breast and a red camellia
fastened there. Her soft fine hair was unpretentiously drawn away
neatly, and her doe-like eyes rested amiably on her guests. She seemed
to enjoy her unwonted entertainment.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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