With a sense of impending doom, totally unreasonable, Muriel struck the keys with stiff, frightened fingers. The voices shouted again, madly joyous, punctuated by Connie's crashings on the gong.
"He left me for a damsel dark, damsel dark,
And every night they used to spark, used to spark,
And now my love, without a thought of me
Takes that dark damsel on his knee, on his knee."
Crash-crash-crash, went the gong. The room rocked to the stamp of feet and the roar of voices, while high above them, from where she stood on the sofa end, smashing at the swinging gong, shrilled Connie's wild, mad gaiety.
So Mrs. Hammond, returning to the drawing-room, found them and stood spellbound, like a frozen figure in the doorway. Lady Grainger saw her and smiled, beckoning. Muriel, between the gusts of laughter, heard their voices.
"They kept you a long time," murmured Lady Grainger. "I hope that it was nothing bothering. You—you'll excuse me saying so, you look a little tired. I hope that our rowdy boys are not too much for you."
"Oh, no. Not at all. I like it."
"I'll hang my harp on a weeping willow tree,