A cloud of angry tears blurred her sight as she struck the
tinkling prelude.
"A month ago Lysander prayed To Jove,
to Cupid, and to Venus--"
_Thrum-thrum-thrum_ went the double bass next door. Mr. Moggridge
looked up. How thin and reedy Sophia's voice sounded to-night!
He had never thought so before.
"That he might die, if he betrayed
A single vow that passed between us."
"Sweetly touching!" murmured Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys.
Sophia pursued--
"O careless gods, to hear so ill,
And cheat the maid on you relying;
For false Lysander's thriving still,
And 'tis Corinna lies a-dying."
"Is that all?" asked Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys as Sophia with flushed
cheeks left the piano.
"That is all--a little effort not worth--"
"Oh, it is yours! But," with a sweet smile, "I ought to have
guessed. You must write a song for me one of these days."
"Do you sing?" cried the delighted Mr. Moggridge.
Sam, who had been waiting for a chance to speak, shouted across the
room--"I say, Miss Limpenny, Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys will sing if you ask
her."
After very little solicitation, and with none of the coyness common
to amateurs, she seated herself at the instrument, quietly pulled off
her gloves, and dashed without more ado into a rollicking Irish
ditty.
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