“Why does the English youth of today seek artistic inspiration from the uncivilized population of Central Africa, I wonder?” said Owen Quentillian. He addressed himself to Lucilla, but his very distinct utterance was perfectly audible to everybody else.
Captain Cuscaden laughed, and Olga looked round with perfect good humour. It was Adrian who glared at Quentillian, and Mr. Clover who observed reproachfully:
“I’m sure those old plantation songs are charming, as Miss Olga renders them.”
“You shouldn’t be so superior, Owen,” said Lucilla tranquilly.
It was what Val had been thinking, but she had found herself quite unable to say it, from the very intensity of her feeling.
Lucilla placed an old album on the music stand, and they all began to sing together “Comin’ through the Rye.”
The music affected Valeria almost intolerably.
All the Morchards had good voices, and both Flora and Lucilla sang well. Their true, deep voices gradually dominated Olga’s high pipe, and the four men sank to a mere murmur of accompaniment. Miss Admaston had never done more than crane over everybody’s shoulder in turn in an endeavour to see the page at close quarters, and murmur the last words of a verse in an undertone when everyone else was singing the first line of the refrain. She was now altogether silent.
“Sing the Russian songs, Flora,” said Quentillian.
Valeria pressed her hands closer together, and leant against the wall.