The tune was exquisite and simple, simple and exquisite were the words. And Hugh sang, as the artist always sings, as if this particular song was the one that he had longed and lived to sing. There was the same perfection as he had shown downstairs, and there was no more perfection possible.
“And now you’ll go to sleep, Sitonim?” he said.
At that Mrs. Allbutt went swiftly and silently to her room, and closed the door craftily.
It was all this she thought over, expecting the hair-brushing visit from Peggy. She could have given no precise account of why it should have so taken possession of her mind, except in so far that to the musical soul the marvel of a beautiful voice is a wonder that is ever new. But it was not Hugh’s singing alone that had so stirred her; more than all it was this little vignette seen through the chink of the nursery door of this radiant youth, with his radiant voice, lying with his head on Daisy’s pillow, singing in order to free this very obstinate child from her vow of sitting up until he sang to her, while all the time he knew quite well that he ought not to sing at all, even if the Pope asked him to--nor probably in the latter case would he have done so. And, like an artist, he had not mumbled or whispered, though he was only singing to one small girl by the illumination of a night-light; he had sung as if all the world was listening, as if his career hung on each note. Yet the same boy had rather turned up his nose at the idea of singing Walter, Tristan, and Lohengrin at Covent Garden; it appeared to be much better worth while, even in defiance of his master’s orders, to sing Daisy to sleep.
Peggy followed soon after, having peeped in at the nursery door and seen that Daisy was already fast asleep.
“Nurse doesn’t know how to manage that child,” she said, with an air of extreme superiority. “I went up and just said she had to go to sleep, and that there was no question of Hugh coming to sing to her. It’s what they call suggestion.”
“But he did go and sing to her,” said she. “I heard and saw him.”
“Oh! The suggestion plan rather falls to the ground then. He oughtn’t to have done it, but it’s quite exactly like him. He wouldn’t sing any more for us, but Daisy is a different matter. He can sing fairly well, can’t he?”