The third time it was the Baroness, sitting just beyond Mabel, to
whom Mr Cheney spoke. "That's a very remarkable musician, very
remarkable," he said. "Do you know anything about her?"
"Yes, wait until we get home, and I will tell you all about her," the
Baroness replied.
When the service was over, Mr Cheney did not pass out at once, as was
his custom. Instead he walked toward the pulpit, after requesting
his family to wait a moment.
The rector saw him and came down into the aisle to speak to him.
"I want to congratulate you on the new organist," Mr Cheney said,
"and I want to meet her. Alice tells me it is a lady. She must have
devoted a lifetime to hard study to become such a marvellous mistress
of that difficult instrument."
Arthur Stuart smiled. "Wait a moment," he said, "and I will send for
her. I would like you to meet her, and like her to meet your wife
and family. She has few, if any, acquaintances in my congregation."
Mr Cheney went down the aisle, and joined the three ladies who were
waiting for him in the pew. All were smiling, for all three believed
that he had been asking the rector to accompany them home to dinner.
His first word dispelled the illusion.
"Wait here a moment," he said. "Mr Stuart is going to bring the
organist to meet us. I want to know the woman who can move me so
deeply by her music."
Over the faces of his three listeners there fell a cloud. Mabel
looked annoyed, Alice sulky, and a flush of the old jealous fury
darkened the brow of the Baroness. But all were smiling deceitfully
when Joy Irving approached.
Her radiant young beauty, and the expressions of admiration with
which Preston Cheney greeted her as a woman and an artist, filled
life with gall and wormwood for the three feminine listeners.
"What! this beautiful young miss, scarcely out of short frocks, is
not the musician who gave us that wonderful harmony of sounds. My
child, how did you learn to play like that in the brief life you have
passed on earth? Surely you must have been taught by the angels
before you came."
A deep blush of pleasure at the words which, though so extravagant,
Joy felt to be sincere, increased her beauty as she looked up into
Preston Cheney's admiring eyes.
And as he held her hands in both of his and gazed down upon her it
seemed to the Baroness she could strike them dead at her feet and
rejoice in the act.