“I am going to make Lady May ask you to sing a song.”
“Pray don't.”
“Why not?”
“I should so much rather you asked me yourself.”
“That's very good of you; then I certainly shall. I do ask you.”
“And I instantly obey. And what shall the song be?” asked he, approaching the piano, to which she also walked.
“Oh, that ghostly one that I liked so much when you sang it here about a week ago,” she answered.
“I know it—yes, with pleasure.” And he sat down at the piano, and in a clear, rich baritone, sang the following odd song:—
“The autumn leaf was falling
At midnight from the tree,