“Please do, Gina!” he said, with all his honest admiration reflected in his beaming face.
“Sing ‘Old—’”
“No!” said she, so vigorously that he was startled.
He turned to Anne.
“You should hear her sing ‘Old—’”
“Please don’t ask me!” she cried.
“Of course not, if you don’t wish to,” he said gently; “but upon my word, Mrs. Wigmore’s rending of ‘Old Black Joe’ is—”
“It was ‘Old Dog Tray’ I had in mind,” observed Robert.
“That’s a hateful, silly song!” said Gina. “I can’t endure it. It’s—the whole sentiment is false. There are no Old Dog Trays!”
Robert’s hand fell lightly on her shoulder, and she turned to look at him. Something that she saw in his face brought the tears to her eyes.