"You are wonderful!" he said. "Pam—you are wonderful!"
I looked at Cheneston, suddenly I felt as if I had taken control of my background.
Cheneston's face was white.
His face was the face of a discoverer.
He bent over me.
"You have an extraordinary voice, Pam," he said, "amazing—— But of course it lies—women use their singing voices to tell lies—wonderful, beautiful, sweet-sounding lies."
"Sing again," Grace said.
But I would not sing again; I had made my effect—I own it quite, quite honestly—I could have shrieked with triumph.
So Grace sang.
She sang "Rose in the Bud"—and it was like the trickling after the pour had ceased.