There were some words upon the cover, but they were in French, and in a difficult handwriting.
Anne opened the page rather quickly. “You see it’s quite short and quite simple,” she observed.
“Let me read the words first, and you must correct my pronunciation.”
She began to say the lines a little falteringly, but her quick ear soon found their lilt, and she read them well.
“How pretty! They’re quite easy words. I can understand them,” she said, going to the piano again. “Who wrote them?”
Anne did not answer, and Sylvia, engrossed in trying the accompaniment, forgot her question.
“I see how it goes!” she exclaimed, playing the first bars. Involuntarily, as she began the first bar, Miss Page put out a quick hand as though to stop her, but the girl sang on unconsciously, and the hand dropped at her side.
“It’s lovely!” Sylvia cried, playing the last notes softly over again.
“Thank you, dear,” said Anne, gently. She had crossed the room, and was trying on her garden hat.
With one hand she gathered up the folds of her long gown.