"Sing, of course. You got that high trill that Linda had to screech through. You got it perfectly, without effort."
"I didn't," she returned. "Why, I wasn't singing, just humming it over."
"You let out a link or two on those high notes just the same, whether you knew you were doing it or not," her brother returned impatiently. "Go on. Turn yourself loose. Sing that song."
"Oh, I couldn't," Stella said ruefully. "I haven't tried for so long. It's no use. My voice always cracks, and I want to cry."
"Crack fiddlesticks!" Benton retorted. "I know what it used to be. Believe me, it sounded natural, even if you were just lilting. Here."
He came over to the piano and playfully edged her off the stool.
"I'm pretty rusty," he said. "But I can fake what I can't play of this. It's simple enough. You stand up there and sing."
She only stood looking at him.
"Go on," he commanded. "I believe you can sing anything. You have to show me, if you can't."
Stella fingered the sheets reluctantly. Then she drew a deep breath and began.