She shrugged her shoulders. "Too lazy. If it wasn't for the boring practice I might do something." She raised her voice and sang the opening bars of the Hindu Sleep-Song.
"The devil!" exclaimed Cary Scott.
All the huskiness had passed from the voice, which issued from the full throat, pure, fresh-toned, deep and effortless.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," he declared so vehemently that she pouted.
"Now you're scolding me."
"Because you're letting a voice like that go untrained."
"Lots of people like it as it is," she said resentfully.
"Then they don't recognise what a really lovely thing it might be, properly handled. Why haven't you taken lessons?"
Again the shrug. "I did. But I stopped. Too much trouble. Will you teach me?"