“Yes, pray sing, Mr Bayle; we should be so charmed.”
“I—er—I really—”
“Oh, but do, Mr Bayle,” said Miss Heathery again sweetly.
“I think you will oblige us, Mr Bayle,” said Millicent smiling; and as their eyes met, if the request had been to perform the act of Marcus Curtius on foot, and with a reasonable chance of finding water at the bottom to break the fall, Christie Bayle would have taken the plunge.
“Have you anything I know?” he said despairingly.
“I know,” cried Miss Heathery, with a sort of peck made in bird-like playfulness. “Mr Bayle can sing ‘They bid me forget thee.’”
“Full many a shaft at random sent, hits,” et cetera. This was a chance shot, and it struck home.
“I think—er—perhaps, I could sing that,” stammered Bayle, and then in a fit of desperation—“I’ll try.”
“I have it among my music, Millicent dear. May I play the accompaniment?”
Miss Heathery meant to look winning, but she made Bayle shiver.