“There aren’t any wishing rings nowadays,” sighed Grace, “so there’s no use in saying, ‘I wish Nora and Hippy were here.’ Come on, David, and sing for us. Miriam says you can, and you know it wouldn’t be nice in you to contradict your sister.”
“You can sing, ‘Ah, Moon of My Delight,’” suggested Miriam to her brother. “It is Omar Khayyam set to music, you know”—she turned to Grace—“from the song cycle, ‘In a Persian Garden.’”
“I love it,” commented Anne, her eyes dreamy. “Do sing it, David.”
As Miriam went to the piano the whirr of the electric bell came to their ears.
Grace glanced interrogatively at David. “Perhaps it’s a telegram,” she commented.
David, who had just risen from his chair to go to the piano, stopped short and listened. “False alarm. Must be the doctor. One of the maids is sick.” He crossed to the piano where Miriam already stood, turning over a pile of music. Having found the song for which she was searching, she took her place before the piano and began the quatrain’s throbbing accompaniment.
David’s voice rang out tunefully. He sang with considerable feeling and expression. He had reached the exquisite line, “Through this same Garden—and for One in Vain!” when a clear high voice from the doorway took up the song with him.
With a startled cry of “Nora!” Grace ran to the door.
The song came to an abrupt end. Miriam whirled on the piano stool. One glance and she had joined the group that now surrounded a slender figure with a rosy, laughing face and a saucy turned-up nose.
“Nora O’Malley! You dear thing! No wonder David didn’t hear from Hippy. But where is he? Not far away, I hope.”