She mused, her chin in her hand.
“Of course, he was quite a dear in a lot of ways.”
“Oh, a splendid chap,” said Sam tolerantly.
“Have you ever heard him sing? I think what first attracted me to him was his beautiful voice. He really sings extraordinarily well.”
A slight but definite spasm of jealousy afflicted Sam. He had no objection to praising poor old Eustace within decent limits, but the conversation seemed to him to be confining itself too exclusively to one subject.
“Yes?” he said. “Oh yes, I’ve heard him sing. Not lately. He does drawing-room ballads and all that sort of thing still, I suppose?”
“Have you ever heard him sing ‘My love is like a glowing tulip that in an old-world garden grows’?”
“I have not had that advantage,” replied Sam stiffly. “But anyone can sing a drawing-room ballad. Now something funny, something that will make people laugh, something that really needs putting across ... that’s a different thing altogether.”
“Do you sing that sort of thing?”
“People have been good enough to say....”