As they opened their window Jack opened his. He was famished, and there was no sign of Marjolaine. Could she have forgotten him?
"'On such a night as this—'" began Basil, in his richest and deepest notes.
Jack whistled a flourish very softly.
"Hark, Basil," whispered Barbara, looking up into his eyes. "Hark! The nightingale!"
Jack whistled a little louder.
"Do you think that is the nightingale, dearest?" ventured Basil.
Jack whistled loud and impatiently.
"At least let us make believe it is," murmured Barbara.
Jack's whistle rose to a screech.
"My own one!" boomed Basil, in a voice like subdued but passionate thunder.