"Sing," said Ada sullenly.
"Then do that."
And now the watching girls had what Bobby later admitted was "the surprise of their lives."
The girl at the piano fingered a chord tentatively, then struck into a popular song, an appealing little melody, the words a lyric set to music by a composer with a spark of genius.
"I picked a rose in my garden fair——" sang Ada.
She sang without affectation. Her voice was a charming contralto, evidently partially trained, and promising with coming years to be worth consideration.
"But it withered in a day——" went on the lovely voice.
The girls were absolutely mute. When she had finished the song, and she gave it all, they burst into a spontaneous storm of applause.
Ada barely acknowledged the hand-clapping. Her face had instantly slipped back into the old sullen lines.
"When she can sing like that, shouldn't you think she would be perfectly happy?" sighed Betty. "I'd give anything if I had a voice!"
As a matter of fact Betty had a clear little contralto of her own and she sang as naturally as a bird. But there was no denying that Ada's voice was exceptional.
