Jean rose and crossed to the piano.
“Oh, yes, I can sing you that. Jacqueline always used to say it was the only thing I sang as if I understood it, and Glyn declared it was because it agreed with my ‘confounded principles’!”
She smiled up at him as her fingers slid into the prelude of the song, but her little joke against herself brought no answering smile to his lips. Instead, he stood waiting for the song to begin with an odd kind of expectancy on his face.
Jean had most certainly not inherited her mother’s exquisite voice, but she had a quaint little pipe of her own, with a clouded, husky quality in it that was not without its appeal. It lent a wistful charm to the simple words of the song.
"It’s a strange road leads to the House of Dreams,
To the House of Dreams-Come-True,
Its Hills are steep and its valleys deep,
And salt with tears the Wayfarers weep,
The Wayfarers—I and you.
"But there’s sure a way to the House of Dreams,
To the House of Dreams-Come-True.
We shall find it yet, ere the sun has set,
If we fare straight on, come fine, come wet,
Wayfarers—I and you.”
The soft, husky voice ceased, and for a moment there was silence. Then Tormarin said quietly:
“Thank you. I don’t think your mother need have felt any great disappointment concerning your voice. It has its own qualities, even if it is not suited to the concert hall.”
“But the words of the song?” questioned Jean eagerly. “Don’t you like them?”
“It’s a pretty enough idea.” He laid a faint, significant stress on the last word. “But for some of us the ‘House of Dreams-Come-True’ has never been built. Or, if it has, we’ve lost the way there.”
There was a note of rigid acceptance in his voice, as though he no longer strove against the decisions of destiny, and Jean’s eager sympathy leaped impulsively to her lips.
“Don’t say that!” she began. Then checked herself, flushing a little. “I hate to hear you speak in that way,” she went on more quietly. “It sounds as though there were nothing worth trying for—worth waiting for. I like to believe that everyone has a house of dreams which may ‘come true’ some day.” She paused. “‘If we fare straight on, come fine, come wet,’” she repeated softly.