I used to sing a great
deal when I was younger. Michael--where has Michael gone?"
Michael had just left the room to bring some cigarettes in from next
door, and Lady Ashbridge ran after him, calling him. She found him in
the hall, and brought him back triumphantly.
"Now we will all sit and talk for a long time," she said. "You one side
of me, Miss Falbe, and Michael the other. Or would you be so kind as to
sing for us? Michael will play for you, and would it annoy you if I came
and turned over the pages? It would give me a great deal of pleasure to
turn over for you, if you will just nod each time when you are ready."
Sylvia got up.
"Why, of course," she said. "What have you got, Michael? I haven't
anything with me."
Michael found a volume of Schubert, and once again, as on the first time
he had seen her, she sang "Who is Sylvia?" while he played, and Lady
Ashbridge had her eyes fixed now on one and now on the other of them,
waiting for their nod to do her part; and then she wanted to sing
herself, and with some far-off remembrance of the airs and graces of
twenty-five years ago, she put her handkerchief and her rings on the
top of the piano, and, playing for herself, emitted faint treble sounds
which they knew to be "The Soldier's Farewell.
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