She darted from her chair, humming to herself and only pausing to crumple her scarf into a ball and to toss it with her gloves to Jack. He caught it mechanically, wonderingly. In a moment the grave-voiced girl with the tragic eyes and hint of consumption had transformed herself into something untamed, with shining eyes and irresponsible restlessness. He listened to her voice growing fainter on the stairs, then looked with some embarrassment at the crumpled scarf and gloves.
"Sometime, somehow, somewhere—
How should I know or care?—
It is written above
That fortune and love
Are waiting for me somewhere..."
The strict waltz rhythm was slightly modified to give scope to the voice; but no one had began to dance when Jack went upstairs, and Lady Barbara had to break off and say:
"Do begin, some one!"
"We want to hear you sing," murmured a diffident voice.
"Rubbish! What d'you like? Ragtime? A waltz?"