Good-by, my lover good-by—
Dan was not thinking of the song; he was thinking of Thurley as his bespoken wife and of his and Thurley’s life together. Singing was to be a minor thing which should take place while babies were rocked to sleep or perhaps on Easter Sunday for the special anthem. Dan had no idea of allowing her to remain a paid soloist—but it would do to tell her so later!
“Bravo,” he said as she finished. “Shall we go along?” tucking her arm under his with a masterful air.
They trudged down the pathway to the road. Some children were picking the last berries from the dusty bushes; when they caught sight of Thurley, they ran towards her, saying,
“Miss Clergy heard you sing. Her carriage just went on. She had Ali Baba stop so’s she could hear. She stuck her head out the window and asked him your name and Dan’s name and he told her, and then she stuck her head in and he drove on.”
“There’s an old woman who ought to be ashamed to act like she has for years and years,” Dan began.
But Thurley did not answer. Presently she said, “So—I had an audience even in a graveyard. Dan, do you know Miss Clergy never asks questions about any one? She must have liked my voice!”
“She’ll never get the chance to hear it again! I’ll race you to that first oak—”
Thurley shook her head. “Wait, Dan, I feel queer inside ... as if something might come of it, I don’t know just what.”