He ran down the passage; he entered the central hall; he burst into the drawing-room. His eyes were full of excitement. He strode across the room and sank into a chair close to the singer.
Miss Tredgold just turned and glanced at him.
“Ah, Henry!” she said; “so you are there. I hoped that this would draw you. Now I am going to sing again.”
“A song of the past,” he said in a husky voice.
“Will this do?” she said, and began “Annie Laurie.”
Once again Mr. Dale kept time with his hand and his feet. “Annie Laurie” melted into “Home, Sweet Home”; “Home, Sweet Home” into “Ye Banks and Braes o’ Bonny Doon”; “Ye Banks and Braes” wandered into the delicious notes of “Auld Lang Syne.”
Suddenly Miss Tredgold rose, shut and locked the piano, and then turned and faced her audience.
“No more to-night,” she said. “By-and-by you girls shall all play on this piano. You shall also sing, for I have not the slightest doubt that most of you have got voices. You ought to be musical, for music belongs to both sides of your house. There was once a time when your father played the violin as no one else, in my opinion, ever played it. By the way, Henry, is that violin still in existence?”
“Excuse me,” said Mr. Dale; “I never touch it now. I have not touched it for years. I would not touch it for the world.”
“You will touch it again when the time is ripe. Now, no more music to-night. Those who are tired had better go to bed.”