“I’m not particular. I like songs best.”
Imogene sang a fashionable song, but her voice was thin and shrill, and Tom could not in conscience praise the performance. He thanked her, but did not ask for another. Imogene, however, played two other pieces, and then rose from the piano.
“Miss Mary,” said Tom, “won’t you play something?”
“Shall I aunt?” asked Mary.
“If Mr. Temple wishes to hear you,” said Mrs. Davenport ungraciously. “He will make allowances, as he can hardly expect you to perform as well as Imogene.”
So Mary took her place at the piano.
“I do not play very much,” she said apologetically.
“I’m not a critic,” said Tom. “I sha’n’t find fault. Do you sing?”
“A few common songs, such as ‘Sweet Home.’”
“That’s just what I like.”