Glory stopped her ears and began to sing:
Willy, Willy Wilkin,
Kissed the maid a-milkin'!
Fa, la la!
“There were so many things people could do if they wouldn't waste so much time working——”
Willy, Willy Wilkin
Kissed the maid——
“Glory, if you don't be quiet we'll turn you out!” and Rosa got up and nourished her proofs.
“I had brought my dog, and when I called her a——”
But Glory had leaped to her feet and fled from the room. Drake had leaped up also, and now, putting his back against the door, he raised his voice and went on with his story.
“Somebody saved us, though, and she lay in his arms and kissed him all the way home again.”
Glory was strumming on the door and singing to drown his voice. When the story was ended and she was allowed to come back she was panting and gasping with laughter, but there were tears in her eyes for all that, and Lord Robert was saying, with a sidelong look toward John Storm, “Really, this ought to be a scene in the new Sigurdsen, don't you know!”
John had retired within himself during this nonsense. He had been feeling an intense hatred of the two men, and was looking as gloomy as deep water. “All acting, sheer acting,” he thought, and then he told himself that Glory was only worthy of his contempt. What could attract her in the society of such men? Only their wealth, and their social station. Their intellectual and moral atmosphere must weary and revolt her.