Hilda laughed and went over to the piano. “Well, we are neither of us twenty now, you know. Have I told you about my new play? Mac is writing one; really for me this time. You see, I’m coming on.”
“I’ve seen nothing else. What kind of a part is it? Shall you wear yellow gowns? I hope so.”
He was looking at her round slender figure, as she stood by the piano, turning over a pile of music, and he felt the energy in every line of it.
“No, it isn’t a dress-up part. He doesn’t seem to fancy me in fine feathers. He says I ought to be minding the pigs at home, and I suppose I ought. But he’s given me some good Irish songs. Listen.”
She sat down at the piano and sang. When she finished, Alexander shook himself out of a reverie.
“Sing ‘The Harp That Once,’ Hilda. You used to sing it so well.”
“Nonsense. Of course I can’t really sing, except the way my mother and grandmother did before me. Most actresses nowadays learn to sing properly, so I tried a master; but he confused me, just!”
Alexander laughed. “All the same, sing it, Hilda.”
Hilda started up from the stool and moved restlessly toward the window. “It’s really too warm in this room to sing. Don’t you feel it?”
Alexander went over and opened the window for her. “Aren’t you afraid to let the wind low like that on your neck? Can’t I get a scarf or something?”