But for the life of me I could not help wondering who the singer was. Signora Dolores—was she really a Signora? Or was she an English girl of an arrestingly Spanish type? Where had she come from? And when had she come to Careg? How long was she going to stay in the house?
I wondered how Muriel liked that Spanish girl who had so completely taken the shine out of her.
I wondered if she—the wonderful singer—were going to sing again.
She did not.
I realized that this was more of her coquetry; to make one marvellous appearance, to reap her success, and then to refuse to reappear until the last note of "God save the King" had been sung, with all the wounded soldiers, and ourselves of the Land Army, standing to attention.
Yes; at last it came to the end of the concert. Votes of thanks had been proposed and seconded. Cheers had been given for our host, Captain Holiday, for the performers, and for "the pretty young lady who had so kindly consented to act as accompanist," but there was no further sign of the lovely lady who had sang "Carissima."
I supposed that she, with the rest of the house-party, would be having a merry little supper afterwards, presided over by Captain Holiday. I am afraid that at the thought of this I felt myself literally trembling with passionate envy.
The audience, laughing and talking, began to move slowly from between the rows of chairs out from the concert-room. I found that I was deadly tired; an evening of emotion takes it out of a girl considerably more than a day of farm-work! I turned for comfort to the sturdy little boyish figure of Elizabeth.
I made myself say, "It has been jolly, hasn't it?"
Elizabeth nodded her bobbed head.