The Loyalist

CHAPTER VII

I

"For still my mem'ry lingers on the scenes

And pleasures of the days beyond recall."

Peggy's voice, timid, soft though pretty, died away into an enraptured silence which seemed to endure for the longest while before the room burst into a generous measure of applause. She was very well accompanied on the clavichord by Miss Rutteledge and on the harp by Monsieur Ottow, Secretary to the French Minister. The evening had been delightful; the assembly brilliant in quality, and unaffectedly congenial and diverting. The music had contributed much to the pleasures of the function, for the Shippens' was one of the few homes in the city where such a resource was at all possible.

"Major! Major Franks! What do you think of my little girl? Do you think 'twould be well for her to cultivate such a voice?"

Mrs. Shippen turned sideways. There was gratification, genuine, complacent gratification, visible in every line of her smiling face.

"Splendid! Splendid! Of course. Madame, she sings very prettily," replied the Major, gathering himself from the state of partial repose into which he had fallen.

He sat up.

"And do you know, Major," went on the fond mother, "she never had a tutor, except some of our dear friends who made this their home during the winter."

"You mean the British?"

"Of course they did not make so free with everybody in the city, with only a few, you know. It was for General Howe himself that Margaret first made bold enough to sing."

"She does very well, I am sure," was the reply.

The little group again lapsed into silence as Peggy responded with an encore, this selection being a patriotic air of a lighter vein. The Major again lapsed into an easy attitude, but Mrs. Shippen was visibly intent upon every motion of the singer and followed her every syllable.

"How much does music contribute to one's pleasure!" she remarked when the conversation began to stir.

"It is charming," Mr. Anderson observed.

"And do you know that we inherited that clavichord? It is one of the oldest in the country."

"It appears to be of rare design," remarked Mr. Anderson, as his eyes pierced the distance in a steady observance of it.