Stingaree
"I haven't sung for months."
He was now in the room; there was no longer any necessity to bar the doorway, and the light coming through fell full on his amazement. The girl stood before him with a calm face, more wistful than ironic, yet with hints of humor in the dark blue eyes. Her companion put up the eye-glass which he had dropped at her reply.
"May I ask what you are doing in these wilds?"
"Certainly. I am Mrs. Clarkson's companion."
"And you sing, for the first time in months, the minute her back is turned: has the lady no soul for music?"
"You had better ask the lady."
And her visible humor reached the corners of Miss Bouverie's mouth.
"She sings herself, perhaps?"
"And I am here to play her accompaniments!"
The eye-glass focussed the great, smiling girl.
"Can she sing?"
"She has a voice."
"But have you never let her hear yours?"
"Once. I had not been here long enough to know better. And I made my usual mistake."
"What is that?"
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