“Jack Airdale—an awfully decent fellow. Quite a good voice, too, though I think from the point of view of the show it’s a mistake to have a high barytone when they’ve already got a tenor. However, he does a good deal of accompanying. In fact, he’s a much better accompanist than he is singer.”
“I suppose you’ve got more girls than ever in love with you, now you wear a mask?” said Sylvia.
Claude seemed doubtful whether to take this remark as a compliment to his voice or as an insult to his face. Finally he took it as a joke and laughed.
“Just the same, I see,” he said. “Always chaffing a fellow.”
Claude Raglan and Jack Airdale came to supper in due course. Sylvia liked Jack; he was a round-faced young man in the early twenties, with longish light hair that flopped all over his face when he became excited. Sylvia and he were good friends immediately and made a great deal of noise over supper, while Claude and Lily looked at each other.
“How’s the consumption, Claudie?” Sylvia asked.
Claude sighed with a soulful glance at Lily’s delicate form.
“Don’t imagine she’s sympathizing with you,” Sylvia cried. “She’s only thinking about plums.”
“He’s grown out of it,” Airdale said. “Look at the length of his neck.”
“I have to wear these high collars. My throat....” Claude began.