She seemed really much more interested in Mawley’s conversation than I thought any reasonable person could be; while he was grinning and carrying on at a rate, which, if I had been Mrs Clyde, I would not have allowed for a moment.
O, the equilibriant temperament of the “superior” sex!
Min teased me yet further.
She sang every song that Mawley and Horner asked her for, playing the accompaniments for the latter when he favoured the company with his idea of ballad vocalisation.
Horner thought he possessed a fine tenor voice: I didn’t think so, especially on this evening!
But, no matter what these two asked her to do, she did. If I, however, requested any particular song, she said she did not believe she could manage it; her voice could not compass it; she had lent it out; or, she hadn’t got it!
Was it not enough to provoke one? Wouldn’t you have been affected by it?
In addition to Horner and Mawley, there was also an odious cousin of hers, called “Jack,” or “Tom,” or “Ned,” or some other abominably familiar abbreviation, who hung over the piano stool, and said “Min, do this,” and “Min, do that,” in a way that drove me to frenzy.
I hate cousins! I don’t see the necessity for them. I’m sure people can get along very well without their existence. I would do away with them to-morrow by act of Parliament, if I only had the power.
When everybody else who had a voice at all had exercised their vocal powers, Mrs Clyde at last asked me to sing.