"You must not mind what I say, Dr. Nestley," she observed, bending forward, "I'm afraid I'm dreadfully rude."
"And wonderfully charming," thought Beaumont, who, however, kept his opinion to himself, warned by the fate of his friend.
The young doctor, meanwhile, had hastily assured Una that he did not mind her severity, in fact rather liked it, and would doubtless in all sincerity have committed himself again only that Blake commenced to sing "Come, Marguerite come," from Sullivan's "Martyr of Antioch," and they all listened attentively.
Cecilia played the graceful accompaniment of _arpeggi_ lightly, while above this constant sweep of dissevered chords, rising and falling with the voice, the high, penetrating notes of the singer flowed smoothly onward and, as the organist played softly, the full purity of the voice could be heard with marvellous effect. Owing to want of training, Blake's voice lacked in a great measure the power to give a perfect rendering to the melody, but the richness and mellowness of his notes were undeniable.
When he had finished Beaumont's face betrayed the pleasure he felt, and Una, who was watching him closely, asked his opinion.
"A wonderful voice," he said critically, as the three walked up the aisle, "but of course it requires a great deal of cultivation."
"I think it's charming," interposed Nestley, eager to curry favour with Una by praising one whom she evidently regarded as a brother.
"Of course you would think so," replied Beaumont a little contemptuously, "because you know nothing about the subject; to an uncultivated ear Blake's voice sounds well because he has a wonderfully fine organ, but to a musician there is a crudeness of style, a want of colouring, and a lack of refinement which makes him regret that such a great natural gift is not trained to its full capabilities."
"But you're not a musician?" said Nestley, nettled at the superior tone adopted by his friend.
"No," answered Basil complacently, "but I have heard a great deal, and as most of my life has been passed among musicians I have picked up a general knowledge of the technicality of the art. Shakespeare never committed a murder, yet he wrote Macbeth and Hamlet. Balzac did not fall in love till somewhere about the forties, but, he wrote 'Modeste Mignon,' and 'La Lys dans la vallee,' before that age--one does not need to be an artist to possess the critical faculty."