"No," she said. "Once more," and she whistled the motif.
"Oh! it's so diffy!" said Lucia beginning again. "Georgie! Turn over!"
Georgie turned over, and Lucia counting audibly to herself made an
incomparable mess all over the piano.
Olga turned to her accompanist.
"Shall I try?" she said.
She sat down at the piano, and made some sort of sketch of the
accompaniment, simplifying, and yet retaining the essence. And then she
sang.
Chapter EIGHT
Throughout August, Guruism reigned supreme over the cultured life of
Riseholme, and the priestess and dispenser of its mysteries was Lucia.
Never before had she ruled from so elate a pinnacle, nor wielded so
secure a supremacy. None had access to the Guru but through her: all
his classes were held in the smoking-parlour and he meditated only in
Hamlet or in the sequestered arbour at the end of the laburnum walk.
Once he had meditated on the village green, but Lucia did not approve
of that and had led him, still rapt, home by the hand.
The classes had swelled prodigiously, for practically all Riseholmites
now were at some stage of instruction, with the exception of Hermy and
Ursy, who pronounced the whole thing "piffle," and, as gentle chaff for
Georgie, sometimes stood on one leg in the middle of the lawn and held
their breath. Then Hermy would say One, Two, Three, and they shouted
"Om" at the tops of their discordant voices.
Pages:
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160