"Well, I was thinking that you might like"—Sister Mary John looked up at Evelyn—"I suppose you can sing B flat, or even C?"
"Yes, I can sing C;" and Evelyn thought of the last page of the "Dusk of the Gods." "But what are you looking for?"
Sister Mary John did not answer. She threw the music from side to side, every minute growing more impatient. "It is most strange," she said at last, looking up at Evelyn. Evelyn smiled. With all her brusque, self-willed ways, Sister Mary John was clearly a lady born and an intelligent woman.
"I'm afraid I shall not be able to find you anything that you'd care to sing."
"Oh, yes, I shall," Evelyn replied encouragingly.
"It is all such poor stuff. We've no singers here. Do you know, I've never heard a great singer, and I've often wished to. The only thing I regret is not having heard a little music before I came here. But I've heard of Wagner; you sing Wagner, don't you, Miss Innes?"
"Yes, I sing little else. 'Fidelio'—"
"Ah, I know some of the music. Do you sing—"
Sister Mary John hummed a few bars.
"Yes, I sing that."