-circle nearer and
nearer, could not be guessed. She did not seem abashed in any way, for,
having preluded, she threw herself into another song.

The charm was now more human, though scarcely less powerful. This was a
different song from the last: it was not the sculptured music of the old
school, but had the richness and fulness of passionate blood that marks
the modern Italian, where there is much dallying with beauty in the
thick of sweet anguish. Here, at a certain passage of the song, she
gathered herself up and pitched a nervous note, so shrewdly triumphing,
that, as her voice sank to rest, her hearers could not restrain a deep
murmur of admiration.

Then came an awkward moment. The ladies did not wish to go, and they
were not justified in stopping. They were anxious to speak, and they
could not choose the word to utter. Mr. Pericles relieved them by moving
forward and doffing his hat, at the same time begging excuse for the
rudeness they were guilty of.

The fair singer answered, with the quickness that showed a girl: "Oh,
stay; do stay, if I please you!" A singular form of speech, it was
thought by the ladies.

She added: "I feel that I sing better when I have people to listen to
me."

"You find it more sympathetic, do you not?" remarked Cornelia.

"I don't know," responded the unknown, with a very honest smile. "I like
it."

She was evidently uneducated. "A professional?" whispered Adela to
Arabella. She wanted little invitation to exhibit her skill, at all
events, for, at a word, the clear, bold, but finely nervous voice, was
pealing to a brisker measure, that would have been joyous but for one
fall it had, coming unexpectedly, without harshness, and winding up the
song in a ringing melancholy.

After a few bars had been sung, Mr. Pericles was seen tapping his
forehead perplexedly. The moment it ended, he cried out, in a tone
of vexed apology for strange ignorance: "But I know not it? It is
Italian--yes, I swear it is Italian! But--who then? It is superbe! But I
know not it!"

"It is mine," said the young person.

"Your music, miss?"

"I mean, I composed it."

"Permit me to say, Brava!"

The ladies instantly petitioned to have it sung to them again; and
whether or not they thought more of it, or less, now that the authorship
was known to them, they were louder in their applause, which seemed to
make the little person very happy.

"You are sure it pleases you?" she exclaimed.

They were ve