Cornelius turned in offense, went back to the piano, and sang the
song again--not one hair better--in just the same nerveless, indifferent
fashion as before; for how shall one who has no soul, put soul into a
song?
Mrs. Raymount was sitting at the fireside with her embroidery. She had
not spoken since tea, but now she called Hester, and said to her
quietly--
"Don't provoke him, Hester. I am more than delighted to find he has
begun to take an interest in music. It is a taste that will grow upon
him. Coax him to let you teach him--and bear with him if he should sing
out of tune.--It is nothing wicked!" she added with a mother-smile.
Hester was silent. Her conscience rebuked her more than her heart. She
went up to him and said--
"Corney, dear, let me find you a song worth singing."
"A girl can't choose for a man. You're sure to fix on some sentimental
stuff or other not fit to sing!"
"My goodness, Corney!" cried Hester, "what do you call the song you've
just been singing?"
In the days when my heart was aching
Like the shell of an overtuned lyre.
"Ha! ha! ha!"
She laughed prettily, not scornfully, then striking an attitude of the
mock heroic, added, on the spur of the moment--
"And the oven was burning, not baking,
The tarts of my soul's desire!"
--for at the moment one of those fumes the kitchen was constantly firing
at the drawing-room, came storming up as if a door had been suddenly
opened in yet lower regions.
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