"
Mrs. Redmain said nothing, only waited with her eyes. They were
calm, reposeful eyes, not fixed, scarcely lying upon Tom. It was
chilling, but he was not easily chilled when self was in the
question--as it generally was with Tom. He felt, however, that he
must talk or be lost.
"I have taken the liberty," he said, "of bringing you the song I
had the pleasure--a greater pleasure than you will readily
imagine--of hearing you admire the other evening."
"I forget," said Hesper.
"I would not have ventured," continued Tom, "had it not happened
that both air and words were my own."
"Ah!--indeed!--I did not know you were a poet, Mr.--"
She had forgotten his name.
"That or nothing," answered Tom, boldly.
"And a musician, too?"
"At your service, Mrs. Redmain."
"I don't happen to want a poet at present--or a musician either,"
she said, with just enough of a smile to turn the rudeness into
what Tom accepted as a flattering familiarity.
"Nor am I in want of a place," he replied, with spirit; "a bird
can sing on any branch. Will you allow me to sing this song on
yours? Mrs. Downport scarcely gave the expression I could have
desired.--May I read the voices before I sing them?"
Without either intimacy or encouragement, Tom was capable of
offering to read his own verses! Such fools self-partisanship
makes of us.
Mrs. Redmain was, for her, not a little amused with the young
man; he was not just like every other that came to the house.
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