When the murmur of applause died down she turned to him with the slow lift of her lashes that, conscious or no, thrilled him afresh at each repetition. ‘I didn’t know you could sing like that,’ she said softly.
‘I can’t always,’ he answered, flushing under her implied praise. ‘Sometimes—it just takes hold of me. Don’t you sing yourself? I’m sure you’ve got music in you.’
She suppressed a small sigh. ‘Oh yes. It’s one of my poor little half-fledged talents; useless for want of proper development. My elder sister’s the clever one, and she got all the chances. She found me convenient sometimes for duets.’
‘Duets? Good. I know plenty. Let’s have a try. What was her line?’
‘Classical. Mostly German.’
Mark was silent a moment, raking his memory. Then he had an inspiration. ‘Mendelssohn’s “I would that the love”...? Wasn’t that the sort of thing?’
‘Yes. Very much so.’
‘Right! We’ll give them a treat. You take the air.’
She shook her head. ‘You’re going much too fast. I never said I’d sing; and—I’ve rather forgotten the words.’