s, caught himself frowning at
this brilliant prospect for her, which was to give him his opportunity.

CHAPTER III

The next morning there were many "tra-las" and "tum-te-turns" over the
family breakfast-table; a constant humming and crying, "I have it"; and
after two or three bars, baffled pauses and confusion of mind. Mr.
Pericles was almost abusive at the impotent efforts of the sisters to
revive in his memory that particular delicious melody, the composition of
the fair singer herself. At last he grew so impatient as to arrest their
opening notes, and even to interrupt their unmusical consultations, with
"No: it is no use; it is no use: no, no, I say!" But instantly he would
plunge his forehead into the palm of his hand, and rub it red, and work
his eyebrows frightfully, until tender humanity led the sisters to
resume. Adela's, "I'm sure it began low down--tum!" Cornelia's: "The
key-note, I am positive, was B flat--ta!" and Arabella's putting of these
two assertions together, and promise to combine them at the piano when
breakfast was at an end, though it was Sunday morning, were exasperating
to the exquisite lover of music. Mr. Pericles was really suffering
torments. Do you know what it is to pursue the sylph, and touch her
flying skirts, think you have caught her, and are sure of her--that she
is yours, the rapturous evanescent darling! when some well-meaning
earthly wretch interposes and trips you, and off she flies and leaves you
floundering? A lovely melody nearly grasped and lost in this fashion,
tries the temper. Apollo chasing Daphne could have been barely polite to
the wood-nymphs in his path, and Mr. Pericles was rude to the daughters
of his host. Smoothing his clean square chin and thick moustache hastily,
with outspread thumb and fingers, he implored them to spare his nerves.
Smiling rigidly, he trusted they would be merciful to a sensitive ear.
Mr. Pole--who, as an Englishman, could not understand anyone being so
serious in the pursuit of a tune--laughed, and asked questions, and
almost drove Mr. Pericles mad. On a sudden the Greek's sallow visage
lightened. "It is to you! it is to you!" he cried, stretching his finger
at Wilfrid. The young officer, having apparently waited till he had
finished with his knife and fork, was leaning his cheek on his fist,
looking at nobody, and quietly humming a part of the air. Mr. Pericles
complimented and thanked him.

"But you have ear for music extraordinaire