"I would with pleasure, if it were mine. But the fact is—I—I—had no right to sing it at all, and the composer would be awfully vexed if he knew."
"Original composer?"
"He is, indeed. He cannot bear to think of his songs being sung in public."
"Dear me! What a terrible mystery you are making of it," I laughed.
"O r-really there is no abracadabra about it. You misunderstand me. But I deserve it all for breaking faith and exploiting his lovely song so as to drown my beastly singing."
"You need not reproach yourself," I said. "I have heard it before."
He started perceptibly. "Impossible," he gasped.
"Thank you," I said freezingly.
"But how?"
"A little bird sang it me."