Just then Cecilia came into the room.
"And who's a selfish beast?" she asked.
"Not me, Cecilia," I said. Cecilia is my elder sister, and I have known her for many years.
"It's John," said Margery. "He's talking the most awful rot, and now he says he won't come to the concert."
"Won't come to the concert?" said Cecilia, lifting her eyebrows. "Of course he's coming. Alan's going to sing and John will probably have to say something."
I sat up straight and swallowed hard.
"No, Cecilia," I gasped, "I really can't sing. I'll turn up if you like and cheer and all that sort of thing, but really I can't sing."
"Of course you can. You must. I've told them to put your name down. Everybody has got to do something. It's for St. Dunstan's, you know, and everyone for miles round is turning up."
I subsided, murmuring feebly.