a waltz of the lightest, maddest rhythm, broken here
and there by strange barbaric clashes; then a song, plaintive and
clinging, rich in the subtlest shades and melancholies of modern
feeling.

'Ah, but _excellent_!' said Lady Charlotte once, under her breath, at a
pause; 'and what _entrain_--what beauty!'

For Rose's figure was standing thrown out against the dusky blue of the
tapestried walls, and from that delicate relief every curve, every
grace, each tint--hair and cheek and gleaming arm gained an enchanting
picture-like distinctness. There was jessamine at her waist and among
the gold of her hair; the crystals on her neck, and on the little shoe
thrown forward beyond her dress, caught the lamplight.

'How can that man play with her and not fall in love with her?' thought
Lady Charlotte to herself, with a sigh, perhaps, for her own youth. 'He
looks cool enough, however; the typical don with his nose in the air!'

Then the slow passionate sweetness of the music swept her away with it,
she being in her way a connoisseur, and she ceased to speculate. When
the sounds ceased there was silence for a moment. Mrs. Darcy, who had a
piano in her sitting-room whereon she strummed every morning with her
tiny rheumatic fingers, and who had, as we know, strange little veins of
sentiment running all about her, stared at Rose with open mouth. So did
Catherine. Perhaps it was then for the first time that, touched by this
publicity, this contagion of other people's feeling, Catherine realised
fully against what a depth of stream she had been building her useless
barriers.

'More! more!' cried Lady Charlotte.

The whole room seconded the demand save the squire and Mr. Bickerton.
They withdrew together into a distant oriel. Robert, who was delighted
with his little sister-in-law's success, went smiling to talk of it to
Mrs. Darcy, while Catherine with a gentle coldness answered Mr.
Longstaffe's questions on the same theme.

'Shall we?' said Rose, panting a little, but radiant, looking down on
her companion.

'Command me!' he said, his grave lips slightly smiling, his eyes taking
in the same vision that had charmed Lady Charlotte's. What a 'child of
grace and genius!'

'But do you like it?' she persisted.

'Like it--like accompanying your playing?'

'Oh no!'--impatiently; 'showing off, I mean. I am quite ready to stop.'

'Go on; go on!' he said, laying his finger on the A. 'You have driven
all my _mauvaise honte_ away.