I had a message to send her,
To her whom my heart loved best.
When the last tinkle had died away, Jemmie, who had stopped crackling The Times because there was nothing more to read that interested him, asked his wife if he had not heard the song before somewhere. She smiled ironically.
"I expect I've heard you sing it," he hastened to add apologetically.
"No. Not me."
Good heavens, could it be that he had heard Maudie sing that song? Maudie did sometimes sing sentimental songs on wet afternoons. Nonsense! If Maudie had sung it, Mary could not know that. Gossip could effect a good deal, but gossip could not discuss Maudie's choice of music.
"Well, I don't know where I heard it," he declared.
"And I certainly shall never reveal where or when it was," she murmured.
While that night Mary was brushing her chestnut hair before the big oval mirror of her dressing-table her husband came and, bending over, kissed the tip of her ear.
"Please! please!" she exclaimed, drawing away. "I did not sing to attract you, but to amuse myself."