"Yes, very soon."
Stella felt mystified. Had she said the wrong thing? Perhaps it was a sore point with him that he had not received the distinction earlier?
"Can you sing?" she inquired quickly, to change the subject.
"Well, I used to," he admitted.
"Oh, do let us see if we have any songs you know. Aunt Ellen, Colonel Crayfield will sing if we can find something he knows."
There followed much turning over of music, but without success. Then Stella lifted the lid of the small ottoman that served as a piano-stool, disclosing several bound books of music; she dragged them forth; beneath them lay a number of songs in manuscript. Ellen intervened.
"You will find nothing among those; they are so old," she said hastily, as again her niece delved, and produced "Wings," "Adieu," "The Arab's Farewell to His Favourite Steed."
Colonel Crayfield shook his head at them all, but he laid his hand on the next sheet of music that, in spite of Aunt Ellen's unaccountable obstruction, was excavated by Stella.
"That!" he exclaimed, mingled recognition and reluctance in his tone. Forthwith Stella placed it on the stand and began to read the accompaniment, that might have been transcribed with a pin.