CHAPTER IX

GRATIFIED DESIRES

"WHAT shall we do this afternoon, uncle?"

"Whatever you please, my dear. I am at your service entirely."

Juliet's eyes brightened. She leaned nearer to her uncle as he sat in his easy-chair, and laid her hand with a pretty caressing movement on his shoulder. Such spontaneous expressions of affection, which she gave with the grace and freedom of a child, were delightful to him. His niece was spending the day with him at the comfortable chambers in Bloomsbury in which he had established himself when he returned to town in the autumn. He lived there very quietly, spending much of his time amongst the books in the British Museum; but it was an understood thing between them that when Juliet came to see him he must devote himself to her entertainment, and he thoroughly enjoyed the hours he spent with her in sight-seeing and other forms of diversion.

"Oh, uncle, there is such a lovely concert at the Crystal Palace this afternoon. Adelina Patti is to sing. Oh, I should so like to hear her!"

"Have you never heard her sing?"

"Never. I have never heard anyone. I never go anywhere," said Juliet plaintively. "Hannah and Salome always think it wrong to take any pleasure and I cannot go to places by myself."

"Poor child! You are hardly used," said her uncle, with a merry twinkle in his eyes; "but now let me hear more about this concert. How would it do if I were to take you?"

"Oh, uncle! Will you really? How lovely! There is nothing I should like so much. Oh, it is good of you. And afterwards the fountains will be illuminated, and there will be splendid fireworks. Oh, I shall enjoy it!"

"But, my dear, if we stayed to see the fireworks, you would not get home till very late, and your mother would be alarmed," said her uncle.

"Oh, of course, I must send her a telegram," was Juliet's prompt reply. "And there is a little room, half-way up the stairs, which Mrs. Carroll lets sometimes. She showed it to me the last time I was here. The best plan would be for me to sleep there to-night. You would not care to take me home so late."

Assuredly he would not. But was there ever such a little puss for getting her own way? How quick she was to foresee and provide against every objection that might be made to that which she proposed!

So to the Crystal Palace they went that afternoon. The popular resort of Londoners was a novel place to Juliet, and it was many years since Mr. Tracy had visited it. They were able to see a good deal of its beauties ere it was time to take their places for the concert. Mr. Tracy did not mind paying a handsome price for the tickets, and they could not have had a better position than they secured.

It was an excellent concert. The prima donna sang beautifully, and, to Mr. Tracy's delight, she sang simple old English ditties, which he had known and loved from his boyhood. He listened entranced to her exquisite rendering of these, and was scarcely less rapturously delighted than was Juliet.

But the instrumental music which followed had much less attraction for him, and whilst it proceeded his eyes wandered over the audience or marked such details of the finely proportioned building as came within their range. As he gazed about thus, he suddenly became aware that a young man, who with a couple of companions occupied comfortable seats to the right above their heads, was leaning forward with his opera-glass levelled at Juliet, and regarding her with a persistency which quickly excited her uncle's ire. Juliet soon became aware of the gaze fixed on her. She looked up, and her face flushed as she recognised Algernon Chalcombe. When he was aware that she saw him, he dropped his opera-glasses and looked at her, awaiting her recognition. She smiled and bowed; he bowed in return, with such a look of pleasure that Juliet's heart beat high with elation. But her uncle had observed these salutations with little pleasure.

"Do you know that gentleman, Juliet?" he asked.

"Yes," Juliet replied, with lowered eyelids; "I went to school with his sister."

Her uncle made no further inquiry, but he continued to regard the young man with disfavour. It struck him that the handsome dark face had a dissipated appearance, and that he looked too much of a fine gentleman to be the genuine article. Mr. Tracy wondered if it were indeed a diamond which flashed conspicuously on the young man's hand.

Juliet did not again turn her pretty head towards the seat where young Chalcombe sat, but she was aware, without seeming to be so, that his opera-glasses were often directed to the spot where she sat. Her uncle observed it also, and felt enraged with the fellow for his impudence.

When the concert was over, Juliet and her uncle took a walk in the grounds. Juliet spoke with rapture of the concert, and the delight with which she had listened to Adelina Patti.

"Oh, uncle, I would give anything to be a public singer!" she exclaimed.

"Nonsense, my dear child!" he replied. "You do not know what that means."

"I do know," she responded excitedly. "It must be a splendid life. Think what it is to stand before such an audience and know that every eye is on you, everyone admiring you and listening spellbound to your voice. Did you hear that gentleman behind us say, when she had finished singing 'Home, sweet home,' that he should think she would make home sweet?"

"Humph," said her uncle slowly, in the tone of one who will not utter all his mind; "I daresay it seems very fine to you, my dear, but you speak in ignorance. Such women are far from being so happy as you suppose. You see the glamour and glitter, you hear the applause, but you do not know what lies behind—the heartache and jealousy and bitterness."

"Oh, of course there are drawbacks," said Juliet loftily; "but that is the kind of life I should like."

"My dear, I hope that yours will be a far happier lot. I do not like the idea of a public life for a woman. Home is the woman's true sphere."

"Oh, uncle, excuse me, but that is a terribly old-fashioned idea—quite an exploded one, in fact. A woman has as much right to make a career for herself as a man. For my part, I have no wish for a happy lot, if it must be a humdrum and commonplace one. I want to live."

"So you shall, Juliet, but not by acting or singing in public, I trust. You must be patient, and wait till the prince comes who shall reconcile you to a home life."

He turned to Juliet with a smile on his wrinkled, parchment face, and a merry twinkle in his eyes.

But a disdainful frown sat on that young lady's brow, and she responded impatiently, "Really, uncle! Do you think I want to be married? I assure you that is the last thing that enters into my aspirations for the future."

He felt himself snubbed, and was silent. He was beginning to find his young niece somewhat of a puzzle, and even a perplexity. She did not agree with the notions of womanhood which he had held all his days, without ever harbouring a doubt of their truth. The wife whose early death was the most bitter grief of his life, had been a gentle, loving, domesticated woman, who had had no ambition beyond that of performing in the best possible manner those duties of her sex which he believed to be the whole end and aim of womanhood!

At first, he had been highly entertained by Juliet's self-will and audacity. He had observed them with amusement, as we watch the wilfulness of a tiny child or the frolicsomeness of a kitten. They seemed but childish failings which she would lose as she grew older. But to-night, for the first time, he felt misgivings as he thought of Juliet's future. He had already adopted her in his heart as a daughter. He had confided to her mother his intention of leaving Juliet all that he had. Now, however, he reflected that the command of money might be a fatal gift to one so pretty and young and wilful. He remembered with uneasiness the young man whom he had seen watching Juliet so intently. Yes, money might make her the prey of a worthless fortune-seeker. He must weigh the matter well, lest inadvertently, he did harm instead of good to the girl he loved.

Not only was Ralph Tracy his own medical man, he liked to be his own lawyer as well. It vexed him to think that the simple will which he could have drawn up himself would hardly meet the necessities of the case. To secure the property to Juliet, and protect it from unscrupulous hands, it would be necessary to make careful provisions. He hardly knew if he were equal to framing them himself, but ere he called in the aid of a solicitor, he would have a try at it, with the help of sundry large books crammed full of legal information which was often very hard to digest.

Such was Mr. Tracy's resolve, but he did not immediately proceed to carry it out. He found it more agreeable to let the thing slide for a while. It is curious how reluctant most men are to make provision for the event of their decease.

Yet he was really uneasy about Juliet when he retired to rest after their return from the Palace. He was so troubled, indeed, that he could get little rest. He could hardly have slept worse or had more frightful dreams, had he supped intemperately on beef-steak, instead of on the very thin cocoa and dry biscuits which were all he permitted himself.

And Juliet too passed a restless night, but the dreams which visited her broken slumbers were of another order. One gay scene followed another in her visions. There was laughter and singing and applause, and ever she was the gayest of the gay, the most admired of the admired, the cynosure of all eyes. She was singing before the Queen in Buckingham Palace, and the Princess of Wales was advancing to present her with a huge bouquet, when the postman's loud knock resounding through the house woke her to the consciousness that it was only a dream.

When she came downstairs an hour later, her uncle had long finished his frugal meal, and was leisurely studying his newspaper. He laid it aside when she entered, and talked to her as she ate her breakfast. Juliet would talk of nothing but the concert. When she had finished her meal, she sat down at the piano, and began to play snatches of the melodies she had heard. Although she had made little progress under Salome's tuition, Juliet had a fine ear for music. Presently she broke into a good old song, which was a favourite with her mother, "The oak and the ash and the bonny ivy tree."

Her uncle listened with pleasure. The familiar words recalled to him vividly the days of his early manhood. When she ceased, he thanked her warmly, and not without emotion.

"That song carries me back over many years," he said. "Ah, you cannot think what it is to be old, and to have the scenes of your youth come back to you like dreams. You have a very nice voice, dear; I like to hear you sing."

"I am glad you like my voice," Juliet said; "but it needs training sadly. I want some good singing lessons. I am trying to save money to pay for them."

"You need not save money for that, Juliet. I will pay for the lessons. Why did you not speak to me about it before?"

"How could I, uncle, when you have already done so much for me? You are too good, indeed!"

"Nonsense, child! I only want to see you happy. Of course you shall have lessons, if you wish for them."

"Oh, uncle, you cannot think how happy you make me! You don't know how I have longed for lessons!"

"Then you shall certainly have your heart's desire, though that does not invariably bring happiness. All, that reminds me of a sermon I once heard Mr. Mainprice preach about the heart's desire. It was very good. I wish you could have heard it."

"Don't wish that," said Juliet; "I do not like Mr. Mainprice, and I probably should not have liked his sermon."

"Not like Mr. Mainprice!" exclaimed her uncle, in astonishment. "You surprise me, Juliet. Why, he is one of the best men I know. Indeed, I do not know another young man like him—so good and earnest and strong in every way."

"He may be all that," said Juliet; "but I do not like good young men."

Yet it was not true that she disliked Mr. Mainprice, as in her perversity she chose to declare. Her real feeling for him was far removed from dislike, but she disliked to recall certain words she had heard him utter; she wished to avoid thinking of the man whose rare personality had so impressed her that the very thought of him had the force of a condemnation.

Her uncle looked at her in amazement for a moment; then he leaned back in his chair smiling, as one smiles at the quaint sayings of a child.

"You say that because you know so little about them, Juliet," he remarked.

"I know enough," she returned. "In books they always die young, and it is the best thing they can do."

"It would be a sad thing for the world if that were always the fate of the good young men," said her uncle, smiling. "You are talking nonsense, you foolish child, and you know it. Nothing is of so much importance as a man's character. What he does, or what he has, are trifles in comparison. I see that more and more clearly as I grow older. What is a man worth to God? That is the supreme test of his life's value."

But her uncle's thoughts had taken a turn Juliet had no wish to pursue. She hastened to bring them back to the subject which so greatly interested her.

"How soon can I have lessons, uncle?" she asked.

"As soon as it can be arranged," he replied. "Where can we find a good singing master for you?"

"Signor Lombardi is the best," said Juliet promptly.

"That is a good deal to say for the man," observed her uncle; "how do you know that he is the best?"

"I have been told so by people who understand all about music," said Juliet, colouring. "Of course there must be many good masters in London; but Signor Lombardi is the one of whom I should like to learn."

It was Algernon Chalcombe who had advised her to secure, if possible, lessons from Signor Lombardi, of whom he had spoken as a first-class teacher, and one who had assisted to train and introduce to the world various musical stars, Algernon himself being one of the number.

"Very well," said Mr. Tracy good-naturedly; "Signor Lombardi it shall be. But remember this, Juliet," he added more gravely, "I will not for a moment countenance the idea of your becoming a public singer. You must study to develop your talent for your own pleasure, and the pleasure of others with whom you are thrown in your home and in society. Anything beyond that is out of the question for you."

"Very well, uncle; I understand," said Juliet demurely, but her little foot as it tapped the ground would have betrayed her impatience to a keen observer. She felt that it would be unseemly to argue the question now, when her uncle was behaving so generously to her. She could only acquiesce; but if Mr. Tracy imagined Juliet's acquiescence to mean that she had renounced her cherished desire, he was making a great mistake.

That very afternoon, a visit was paid to Signor Lombardi at his rooms in Argyle Place. Fortunately he was "at home," and at liberty to see them for "three minutes only," as he was careful to explain.

The signor was a big, flabby-looking Italian, with fine dark eyes and very courtly manners. At first, it appeared that his time was so completely filled up that it was quite impossible he could take another pupil. But when he had tested Juliet's voice his manner became more expansive, and it then seemed just possible that he might be able to find half an hour for her in his busy week. He went so far as to admit that Juliet's voice was good, though so untrained that he was unable to say how it would develop.

Mr. Tracy hastened to explain that his niece was to study merely as an amateur. The signor bowed gravely, and said that this was a pity, since such a voice had great possibilities. He was then persuaded to name his terms, which were so high as rather to stagger Mr. Tracy.

But Juliet's pleading eyes were not to be resisted. He could not go back from his word. So the fees were paid, and Juliet's name was enrolled as one of Signor Lombardi's pupils. Juliet went away convinced that the signor had thought her voice a remarkable one, that he had been no less struck with her personal appearance, and that he thought it an immense pity that her uncle's old-fashioned prejudices should prevent her from winning the renown she would be certain to achieve if she made her début as a public singer.

When Juliet, on reaching home that evening, told gleefully the story of her uncle's latest act of kindness to her, Hannah looked across the tea-table at Salome with eyes which plainly said, "I told you so."