It was not a difficult selection, merely a bit from a current light opera, with a closing passage that ranged a trifle too high for the ordinary untrained voice to take with ease. Stella sang it effortlessly, the last high, trilling notes pouring out as sweet and clear as the carol of a lark. Benton struck the closing chord and looked up at her. Fyfe leaned forward in his chair. Jack Junior, among his pillows on the floor, waved his arms, kicking and gurgling.
"You did pretty well on that," Charlie remarked complacently. "Now sing something. Got any of your old pieces?"
"I wonder if I could?" Stella murmured. "I'm almost afraid to try."
She hurried away to some outlying part of the house, reappearing in a few minutes with a dog-eared bundle of sheets in her hand. From among these she selected three and set them on the rack.
Benton whistled when he glanced over the music.
"The Siren Song," he grunted. "What is it? something new? Lord, look at the scale. Looks like one of those screaming arias from the 'Flying Dutchman.' Some stunt."
"Marchand composed it for the express purpose of trying out voices," Stella said. "It is a stunt."
"You'll have to play your own accompaniment," Charlie grinned. "That's too much for me."
"Oh, just so you give me a little support here and there," Stella told him. "I can't sing sitting on a piano stool."
Benton made a face at the music and struck the keys.