But the tone of her voice was unutterably sad,
like an inarticulate wail of despair. All the time her glorious eyes
were resting on me as if she would read my inmost thoughts, whilst I
responded with an idiotic smile of embarrassment. Even now, after the
lapse of years, it makes me hot all over to think of that moment.
I don't know how long I had been standing looking like a fool, when Miss
Latouche turned away as abruptly as she had approached and walked
straight to the door. With a sigh of relief I sank down on the despised
chair. After a few moments I gained sufficient courage to glance round
and assure myself that no spectators had witnessed my discomfiture. It
was a great relief to find that the entire party had migrated to the
further end of the room, where a funny little man was singing comic
songs with a banjo accompaniment. I slipped in next my host, who was
thoroughly enjoying the performance.
"Encore! Capital! Give us some more of it, Tommy," he roared when the
song came to an end. "That's my sort of music, isn't it yours, Carew?"
he added, turning to me.
"A very clever performance," I answered stiffly, divided between my
natural abhorrence of comic songs and the difficulty of making a candid
reply in the immediate vicinity of the funny man.
"Just so. That's what I call really clever," said Maitland, not
perceiving my lack of enthusiasm.
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