"Of course we are," said Dorothy. "You surely don't consider yourself on a level with Fay Onslow? Or with Sadie Moore and Clarice Beauchamp? Those awful girls!"
"I think we're all about the same," said Sylvia. "Some of us drop our aitches, some of us our p's and q's, some of us sing flat and the others sing sharp; but alas! my dear Dorothy, we all look very much alike when we're waiting for the train on Sunday morning."
"I sing perfectly in tune," said Dorothy, coldly.
"Please don't snub, me, Dorothy," Sylvia begged. "I can hardly bear it."
"There's no need for you to be sarcastic; you must admit I'm right about Lily."
Sylvia suddenly produced an eye-glass and, fixing it in her eye, stared mockingly at Dorothy.
"What about David?" she asked.
"You can't compare me with Lily."
"No, but I might compare David with Tom," she said, letting the eye-glass drop in a way that Dorothy found extremely irritating.
After their host's remarks about the tenor Dorothy felt she could not argue the point farther, and now in addition to her anger against Lily she began to hate her singing-master. However, Sylvia must have felt that she was right and have spoken to Lily, because the following week at Leicester Lily, with most unwonted energy, attacked her on the subject: