"But, dear Colonel Ferrers!" cried Hildegarde. "They had to open their mouths, surely! You would not have had them sing with closed lips?"
"I am aware that they had to open their mouths, my child, to some extent. They were not, I conceive, forced to assume the aspect of the dentist's chair. They opened their mouths, I say,—red gulfs, in which every molar could be counted,—and they shut their eyes. They hunched their shoulders, and they wriggled their bodies. Briefly, such an exhibition that I wondered their mother did not shut them in the coal-cellar, or anywhere else where they might escape being seen. Frightful, I assure you! frightful!"
Hildegarde and Bell exchanged glances; the Colonel was on his high horse, and riding it hard.
"And what did they sing?" asked Bell.
"They squalled, my dear young lady,—I refuse to call such performance singing,—some Italian macaroni kind of stuff. Macaroni and soap-suds,—that was what it made me think of. When I was a young lad, they made a song about the Italian opera,—new, it was then, and people didn't take to it at first,—how did that go, now? Hum, ha! I ought to be able to remember that."
"Was it 'Meess Nancy,' perhaps, Colonel?" asked Mrs. Merryweather. "I think I can recall that for you."
"My dear lady, the very thing! 'Meess Nancy said unto me'—if you would be so obliging, Mrs. Merryweather."
And Mrs. Merryweather sang, to the funniest little languishing tune:
"Meess Nancy said unto me one day,
'Vill you play on my leetle guitar?'
Meess Nancy said unto me one day,
'Vill you play on my leetle guitar?
Vich goes "tinky-tink-ting!"
Vich goes "tanky-tank-tang!"
Vich goes "ting,"
Vich goes "tang,"
Vich goes "ta!"'"