Charmian was in one of the balconies now with a young man. She saw her
mother opposite to her with Sir Hilary Burnington, looking down on the
singer and the crowd, and she thought her mother must have heard
something very sad. Millie Deans sang an aria of Mozart in a fine,
steady, and warm soprano voice. Then she sang two _morceaux_ from the
filmy opera, _Crepe de Chine_, by a young Frenchman, which she had
helped to make the rage of Paris. Her eyes were often on Mr. Brett,
commanding him to be favorable, yet pleading with him too.
As Mrs. Mansfield looked down she was feeling sad. The crowded room
beneath her was a small epitome of the world to which talent and genius
are flung, to be kissed or torn to pieces, perhaps to be kissed then
torn to pieces. And too often the listeners felt that they were superior
to those they listened to, because to them an appeal was made, because
they were in the position of judges. "Do we like her? Shall we take
her?" Many faces expressed such questions as this strange-looking woman
sang. "What does Mr. Brett think of her?" and eyes turned toward the
stout man leaning against the wall.
Did not Claude Heath do well to keep out of it all?
The question passed through Mrs. Mansfield's mind as she felt the
humiliation of the yoke which the world fastens on the artist's neck.
She had come to care for Heath almost a little jealously, but quite
unselfishly. She was able to care unselfishly, because she had given all
of herself that was passionate long ago to the man who was dead. Never
again could she be in love. Never again could she desire the closest
relation woman can be in with man. But she felt protective toward Heath.
She had the strong instinct, to shelter his young austerity, his
curious talent, his reserve, and his sensitiveness. And she was thinking
now, "If he goes yachting with Adelaide! If he allows Max to exploit
him! If he becomes known, perhaps the fashion, even the rage! And if
they get sick of him?" Yet what is talent for? Why is it given to any
man? Surely to be used, displayed, bestowed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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