“They were wonderfully happy together there. Not in the least—as I suppose they ought to have been—an awful example of poetic justice!” she declared. “Glyn used to call Beirnfels his ‘House of Dreams-Come-True’.”
“Glyn?”—suddenly remarking her use of Peterson’s Christian name.
She smiled.
“I never called them father and mother. They would have loathed it. Glyn used to say that anything which savoured so much of domesticity would kill romance!”
“That sounds like all that I have ever heard about him,” said Tormarin, smiling too. “So does the ‘House of Dreams-Come-True.’ It’s a charming idea.”
“He took it from one of Jacqueline’s songs. She had a glorious voice, you know.”
“Yes, so I’ve heard. I suppose you have inherited it?”
She shook her head.
“No, I wish I had. But Jacqueline insisted on trying to teach me singing, all the same. Poor dear! I was a dreadful disappointment to her, I’m afraid.”
“Couldn’t you sing the ‘House of Dreams’ song? I’m rather curious to hear the remainder of it.”