THE SONG OF THE LARK
fingers. "But why did you never tell us? Why are you so reticent with us?"
Thea looked shyly at him from under her brows. "Well, it 's certainly not very interesting. It 's only a little church. I only do it for business reasons."
"What do you mean? Don't you like to sing? Don't you sing well?"
"I like it well enough, but, of course, I don't know anything about singing. I guess that 's why I never said anything about it. Anybody that 's got a voice can sing in a little church like that."
Harsanyi laughed softly—a little scornfully, Thea thought. "So you have a voice, have you?"
Thea hesitated, looked intently at the candles and then at Harsanyi. "Yes," she said firmly; "I have got some, anyway."
"Good girl," said Mrs. Harsanyi, nodding and smiling at Thea. "You must let us hear you sing after dinner."
This remark seemingly closed the subject, and when the coffee was brought they began to talk of other things. Harsanyi asked Thea how she happened to know so much about the way in which freight trains are operated, and she tried to give him some idea of how the people in little desert towns live by the railway and order their lives by the coming and going of the trains. When they left the dining-room the children were sent to bed and Mrs. Harsanyi took Thea into the studio. She and her husband usually sat there in the evening.
Although their apartment seemed so elegant to Thea, it was small and cramped. The studio was the only spacious room. The Harsanyis were poor, and it was due to Mrs. Harsanyi's good management that their lives, even in hard times, moved along with dignity and order. She had long ago found out that bills or debts of any kind frightened her husband and crippled his working power. He said they were like bars on the windows, and shut out
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