"Felix!" said his wife, in a stern tone.
"My dear," he answered, recklessly, rendered bold by the champagne he had taken, "you observed"
"Nothing particular," answered Mrs. Rolleston, glancing at him with a stony eye, "except that I consider Offenbach low."
"I don't," said Felix, sitting down to the piano, from which Madge had just risen; "to prove he ain't, here goes."
He ran his fingers lightly over the keys, and dashed into a brilliant Offenbachian galop, which had the effect of waking up the people in the drawing-room, who felt sleepy after dinner, and sent the blood tingling through their veins. When they were thoroughly roused, Felix, now that he had an appreciative audience, for he was by no means an individual who believed in wasting his sweetness on the desert air, prepared to amuse them.
"You haven't heard the last new song by Frosti, have you?" he asked, after he had brought his galop to a conclusion.
"Is that the composer of 'Inasmuch' and 'How so?'" asked Julia, clasping her hands. "I do love his music, and the words are so sweetly pretty."
"Infernally stupid, she means," whispered Paterson to Brian. "They've no more meaning in them than the titles."
"Sing us the new song, Felix," commanded his wife, and her obedient husband obeyed her. It was entitled, "Somewhere," words by Vashti, music by Paola Frosti, and was one of those extraordinary compositions which may mean anything—that is, if the meaning can be discovered. Felix had a nice voice, though not very strong, and the music was pretty, while the words were mystical.
The first verse was as follows:—
"A flying cloud, a breaking wave,
A faint light in a moonless sky;
A voice that from the silent grave
Sounds sad in one long bitter cry,
I know not, sweet, where you may stand,
With shining eyes and golden hair,
Yet I know I will touch your hand
And kiss your lips somewhere.
Somewhere! Somewhere!
When the summer sun is fair,
Waiting me on land or sea,
Somewhere, love, somewhere!"
