Priscilla and Charybdis. Frank Frankfort Moore
Some who took part in the discussion affirmed that it was rather extraordinary for a young woman, situated as she was, to place herself in a position of such prominence. Surely it would have shown better taste on her part if she had kept in the background. It was foolish for her to do anything that might have a tendency to attract attention to herself and to reawaken public interest in that other affair with which she had been connected. To be sure, it was not quite her fault, that other thing; but still, if she had made proper—even reasonable—enquiries before it happened she would not have been made a fool of. Oh, yes, it was a great pity that she had failed to learn her lesson at that time.
And then an impartial chronicler cannot neglect the criticisms of The Families—the important but not impartial families who surrounded Framsby with a cincture made up of ten generations of stupidity. The Palings, the Hamptsons, the Whiteleafifes—these represented the gems in the girdle that enclosed Framsby, and they agreed that that Wadhurst young woman was showing herself to be all that they had feared she must be. “Of course there never was a question of our looking on her as one of ourselves; but still we thought it might be possible, after a year or two, when the thing was not so fresh in people’s minds … but the young woman has not shown herself to be duly penitent for having been made a fool of, and now she is actually going to appear on a platform—a public platform. … Oh, yes, it is quite as well that we made no move.”
And all this discussion took place between Wednesday afternoon and Thursday evening. It was on Wednesday afternoon that the rehearsal of the music was held; the concert was to take place on the following evening. Rosa Caffyn heard a good deal of the talk that arose on all sides during this brief space of time, and she knew that, whatever surmises were made as to Priscilla’s object in agreeing to play the accompaniment, not one of them got within measurable distance of the truth. What was the true object of Priscilla’s ready compliance Rosa herself was at a loss to say; but she was quite convinced that good nature was not at the bottom of it—the suggestion made by Mrs. Caffyn and acquiesced in by the Rector—and she was equally certain that a desire to bring herself into prominence was not the impulse in the force of which she had acted. Good gracious! the prominence of the player of a pianoforte accompaniment to a single song! Good nature! the most weak-kneed of the virtues. Rosa knew perfectly well that Priscilla had too much character to be ever accused of being good-natured. Miss Caffyn was puzzled, and it was not for the first time that she was so in association with the affairs of Priscilla Wadhurst. There, for instance, was that other affair which gave Priscilla rather more than the prominence of an accompanist at a charity concert—that had puzzled Rosa. How could any girl——
But Rosa refused to allow herself to enter again into that tortuous question; all that she knew was that Priscilla Wadhurst remained before her eyes as an object worthy of admiration—a girl who could think out things beforehand, and who refused to allow herself to be got the better of by Fate; who refused to be submissive to the ways of Providence, but was always on the look-out for a by-way of her own—just what strong-minded persons are when they are busy making history. When any young woman like Rosa Caffyn has come to think of another in such a spirit, she has gone too far to be brought by much thinking into line with the rest of the world, who, though thinking they can see, are blind and incapable even of groping.
But the last criticism on Priscilla Wadhurst came from Morley Quorn and the company of “bassi.” It took the form of a shaking of the head—a sad, disappointed shake taken at three-quarter time at first, but gradually quickening until it ceased in a quiver of quavers. The “bassi” were large-hearted fellows, and had always thought the best of Miss Wadhurst. They felt quite sad to think that she had consented to help that chap Kelton up to another step in that pyramid of self-conceit to the apex of which he had been toiling for years, since he had received his first encore on a platform in Framsby and had been asked to supper at the Bowlby-Suthersts. Yes, the “bassi” shook their heads, but they determined so far as the concert was concerned to remain neutral in respect of applause; they would not stoop so low as to refuse to applaud the singing of the song, if it was well sung, simply because the singer had insulted the musical conductor. At the same time they would certainly not applaud an incompetent rendering of the song simply because a young lady who had wonderful hair and who had been rather unfortunate in other ways was playing the accompaniment.
And thus, with criticism and comment and innuendo, the hours passed until the doors of the hall were opened and the public crushed into their places, the Bowlby-Suthersts arriving a little late. Priscilla sat in the third row of the front seats by the side of her friend Rosa Caffyn and her young brother Clifford Caffyn. The Rector and his wife had, of course, seats in the front row; it was necessary that they should be in that position, so that they might welcome their patrons the Bowlby-Suthersts, and this division of the family deprived people of the power of saying that Mrs. Caffyn wholly approved of Priscilla. Mrs. Caffyn had long ago perceived that it would be dangerous if not actually detrimental to her position—well, not exactly her position, for the position of the wife of a clergyman of the Church of England is not jeopardized even by a display of Christianity—no, but still—well, Mrs. Caffyn had no notion of allowing her name to be mixed up with that of Priscilla Wadhurst, especially when any of the Bowlby-Suthersts were at hand. And the consequence was that people said that Mrs. Caffyn had acted very well in this delicate matter, and that when her daughter Rosa got a year or two older she would find that it did not pay to foster close intimacies with people who showed a tendency to be unlucky in life.
Mr. Morley Quorn got a great reception when he came forward to sing “Honour and Arms,” and when he got his second wind for one of the runs, and then went ahead of the piano through a feeling of terror lest he might not have enough breath to complete the run of “glo-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-horay,” in one of those braggadocio flights of the great master, Mr. Kelton, who was among the performers on the platform, bowed his head and laughed gently to himself, but with the face of the man who laughs so that no one could fail to notice what he was about.
But although Morley Quorn saw him out of the corner of his eye, and longed to do for him all that Harapha looked forward to do for Samson, still he managed to pull himself together and make a distinct impression by his low note at the finish. He held on to that low note, and every one knew that he meant it to be a sort of challenge to that fellow Kelton. But Mr. Kelton, feeling the same thing, was more offensive than before, for he joined in the applause that greeted the singing of the aria; only he ceased clapping his hands long before the rest of the audience had ceased clapping theirs, and then he glanced around with a look of pained enquiry in his eyes, as if he were the conductor of an orchestra asking his kettledrums what they meant by continuing their noise after he had given the signal that the thing was over.
He made a little motion with his hands when an encore was insisted on, as though he felt that such an absence of discrimination made him quite hopeless of such an audience.
Mr. Morley Quorn, however, took his call, but not too easily, and when Mr. Tutt struck the first notes of “The Wolf” there were loud tokens of approval heard on all sides; for Morley’s treatment of the panoramic effects of this song was well known to Framsby. While the horrors of the situation were being dealt with vocally, Kelton was wise enough to contain himself, and the basso went off the platform with an air of triumph.
Rosa looked into Priscilla’s face and smiled; but Priscilla did not return her smile. She could not think that the fact of Morley Quorn’s having come brilliantly out of the ordeal in any way exculpated Mr. Kelton for that sneering laugh of his.
But Mr. Kelton had not yet exhausted his resources of irritation, for when Mr. Mozart Tutt sat down to the piano to play the “Moonlight Sonata,” instead of joining heartily in the greeting that the conductor received, as any one with any sense would have done, in order to give the audience to understand that, however he might differ from Mr. Tutt on certain points in playing an accompaniment, he was still generous enough to recognize the man’s merit when displayed in other channels—instead of doing this, with emphasis, he yawned ostentatiously, tilting back his chair, with his hand over his mouth. Then he began to talk to the man beside him, and a little later he smiled down upon Priscilla in the third row and signalled something to her, afterwards lying back and laughing up to the ceiling,