“Ah,” and Colonel Schuyler’s voice was indicative of disappointment, but his next question was: “How old is this girl?”
“Twenty-seven, I believe,” was the reply, “though she looks much younger.”
“Yes, she does. I thought her about twenty,” Colonel Schuyler said, and with his fear for Godfrey removed, he arose and joined the young people, who had just come through a side door into the music room.
“Edith,” Mrs. Sinclair called, “play something for my brother.”
It was Mrs. Sinclair’s right to command, Edith’s business to obey, and without a word of dissent she sat down and played, with Godfrey on one side of her and the colonel on the other, both listening with rapt attention to her fine playing, and both admiring the soft, white hands which managed the keys so skilfully.
“Edith, dear, sing that pathetic little thing,
‘I am sitting alone to-night, darling.’
You can surely manage that, it is written so low,” Mrs. Sinclair said: and rising from the couch where she had been reclining, she came into the music room, and explained to her brother: “Her voice is not strong and cannot reach the higher notes. She had a great fright when she was quite young, wasn’t it, Edith?”
“Yes,” Edith answered faintly, as she felt the iron hand closing around her throat and shutting down all power to sing even the lowest note.
“I don’t like sitting alone at night, darling. I’d rather have somebody with me, so give us your jolliest piece,” Godfrey said, making Edith laugh in spite of herself, and lifting the invisible hand, so that her voice came back again; and, at Mrs. Sinclair’s second request, she sang: