"It's not worth singing. It would choke me—poor, vapid, vulgar thing!"
"Hullo, sis!" cried Cornelius; "it's hardly civil to use such words about any song a fellow cares to sing!"
Hester's sole answer was a smile, in which, and I am afraid it was really there, Vavasor read contempt, and liked her none the worse for it. Cornelius turned in offense, went back to the piano, and sang the song again—not one hair better—in just the same nerveless, indifferent fashion as before; for how shall one who has no soul, put soul into a song?
Mrs. Raymount was sitting at the fireside with her embroidery. She had not spoken since tea, but now she called Hester, and said to her quietly—
"Don't provoke him, Hester. I am more than delighted to find he has begun to take an interest in music. It is a taste that will grow upon him. Coax him to let you teach him—and bear with him if he should sing out of tune.—It is nothing wicked!" she added with a mother-smile.
Hester was silent. Her conscience rebuked her more than her heart. She went up to him and said—
"Corney, dear, let me find you a song worth singing."
"A girl can't choose for a man. You're sure to fix on some sentimental stuff or other not fit to sing!"
"My goodness, Corney!" cried Hester, "what do you call the song you've just been singing?"
In the days when my heart was aching
Like the shell of an overtuned lyre.