“By ear only,” I replied. “But I’ll tell you what I can do, I can appreciate fine music and playing when I hear them, and as I am quite sure you are a good singer, you ought to oblige me by teaching me to forget your well-acted noises of yesterday.”
“That’s only fair,” exclaimed my uncle.
So saying, he led the way to the drawing-room.
“What shall I sing?” asked Teazer, taking her place at the piano, and this time not knocking over the music stool.
“Whatever comes into your head,” I answered.
“Anything not maudlin,” said her father.
She reflected a moment, and then struck up a very simple, but a very sweet melody, which she accompanied with a voice remarkably pure and rich. Indeed, I never listened to any amateur whose voice I liked so well, nor to any song which gave me more pleasure.
“What a very pretty song,” said I when she had finished.
“Old Kit Marlow’s words, ‘Come, live with me,’ set by some eighteenth century composer,” exclaimed my uncle.
“What a dreadful struggle it must have cost you to sing so badly,” said I, looking at Theresa with a smile.