She Sang So Beautifully, With Such Style And Such
Feeling, It Seemed Incredible To Hear Her Under Circumstances Like
These.
She followed the ballad with Handel's 'Lascia ch'io pianga,'
which rang out into the quiet street with almost
Hopeless pathos.
When she descended from the cart to undertake the more prosaic
occupation of passing the hat beneath the windows, I could see that
she limped slightly, and that the hand with which she pushed back
the heavy dark hair under the hood was beautifully moulded. They
were all mystery that couple; not to be confounded for an instant
with the common herd of London street musicians. With what an air
of the drawing-room did he of the velvet coat help the singer into
the cart, and with what elegant abandon and ultra-dilettantism did
he light a cigarette, reseat himself at the piano, and weave Scots
ballads into a charming impromptu! I confess I wrapped my shilling
in a bit of paper and dropped it over the balcony with the wish that
I knew the tragedy behind this little street drama.
Willie Beresford was in a royal mood that night. You know the mood,
in which the heart is so full, so full, it overruns the brim. He
bought the entire stock of the lavender seller, and threw a shilling
to the mysterious singer for every song she sung. He even offered
to give - himself - to me! And oh! I would have taken him as gladly
as ever the lavender boy took the half-crown, had I been quite,
quite sure of myself!
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