should sing.
Lois lifted her eyebrows and gave a faint icy laugh.
“My dear Jimmy—how antediluvian! I thought ‘a little music after dinner’ was dead and buried!”
He gave her a resentful look.
“I happen to like music after dinner. I happen to want to hear Julia sing. Haven’t heard her sing for years. Sit down and begin. P’raps it’ll sweeten this revolting coffee.”
The eyebrows rose again.
“You needn’t take it.”
“You know damn well why I take it.”
Lois laughed.
“That’s Jimmy’s latest!” she said to Antony. “If I’m to be poisoned, he’ll be poisoned too. Touching devotion—isn’t it?” She picked up her cup off the tray and crossed over to the window where he stood half turned from the room. “He’s in a filthy temper, isn’t he?” She hardly troubled to drop her voice. “We had a row about Hodson’s cottage. I wanted it for the Greenacres, you know. And it was all fixed up—the old man was going to a daughter-in-law in London, where he’d be properly looked after. But now Jimmy’s come crashing in on my nice plan and says he won’t have it. What do you think of that? I’m furious.”
He smiled at her.
“I think you’d better let the cottages alone.”
She leaned nearer.
“Come into the garden and soothe me down. You haven’t any unnatural craving for the drawing-room ballad, have you?”
“I want to hear Julia sing.”
She threw him a bright, sarcastic glance, settled herself on the window seat, and lighted a cigarette.
After a moment’s hesitation Antony sat down too. He had drunk his coffee and left his cup on the tray. Jimmy was making faces over his and drinking it doggedly down. Lois’ cup, with only the dregs left in it now, stood between them on the broad oak sill.
His eye travelled to Ellie sitting by herself in the corner. He wondered what she was thinking about. It would not have comforted him very much if he had known. She was going over and over what had happened at the hospital that afternoon. Well, what had happened? She kept on saying to herself, “Nothing—nothing—nothing.” But it wasn’t any use saying that when you felt sick with misery. Nothing had happened—nothing at all. You had to keep on saying it. It was like being in a boat with the water coming in through a hole you couldn’t see—you had to keep on baling. But if the hole was too big, it wasn’t any use, the water would swamp you.
She saw Ronnie’s face, all pleased and lighted up as she had seen it when she got to the hospital. The pleased look wasn’t for her. She had a bare half-minute of thinking it was, and then he was telling her about Nurse Blackwell being transferred to Brighton, to the home he was going to. Nurse Blackwell was the pretty girl who laughed. She always looked as fresh as if she hadn’t anything to do except look like that. Ronnie said, “Isn’t it marvellous?” Ellie said, “Marvellous— ” Her voice sounded like a tired echo. She felt like that, too— just an echo fading out. Something cold touched her heart.
Julia struck a chord or two and began to sing. She had what Antony had once called a voice of cream and honey—sweet and rich without being very large. Contraltos are apt to be ponderous. Julia’s voice flowed easily in the old, country songs which Jimmy demanded—“Barbara Allen”—“The Bailiff’s Daughter.” Lois’ drawled “Rather infant school, don’t you think?” was taken no notice of.
Jimmy was asking for “the jolly tune you used to sing— the one with all the animals. You know—we used to call it the ‘Zoo.’ ”
Julia’s laugh rang out quite naturally.
“ ‘Love will find out the way’? All right.”
She began a spirited prelude, and sang to an old and charming tune:
Over the mountains,
And under the waves;
Under the fountains,
And under the graves;
Under floods that are deepest;
Which Neptune obey;
Over rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way.
Some think to lose
Lois lifted her eyebrows and gave a faint icy laugh.
“My dear Jimmy—how antediluvian! I thought ‘a little music after dinner’ was dead and buried!”
He gave her a resentful look.
“I happen to like music after dinner. I happen to want to hear Julia sing. Haven’t heard her sing for years. Sit down and begin. P’raps it’ll sweeten this revolting coffee.”
The eyebrows rose again.
“You needn’t take it.”
“You know damn well why I take it.”
Lois laughed.
“That’s Jimmy’s latest!” she said to Antony. “If I’m to be poisoned, he’ll be poisoned too. Touching devotion—isn’t it?” She picked up her cup off the tray and crossed over to the window where he stood half turned from the room. “He’s in a filthy temper, isn’t he?” She hardly troubled to drop her voice. “We had a row about Hodson’s cottage. I wanted it for the Greenacres, you know. And it was all fixed up—the old man was going to a daughter-in-law in London, where he’d be properly looked after. But now Jimmy’s come crashing in on my nice plan and says he won’t have it. What do you think of that? I’m furious.”
He smiled at her.
“I think you’d better let the cottages alone.”
She leaned nearer.
“Come into the garden and soothe me down. You haven’t any unnatural craving for the drawing-room ballad, have you?”
“I want to hear Julia sing.”
She threw him a bright, sarcastic glance, settled herself on the window seat, and lighted a cigarette.
After a moment’s hesitation Antony sat down too. He had drunk his coffee and left his cup on the tray. Jimmy was making faces over his and drinking it doggedly down. Lois’ cup, with only the dregs left in it now, stood between them on the broad oak sill.
His eye travelled to Ellie sitting by herself in the corner. He wondered what she was thinking about. It would not have comforted him very much if he had known. She was going over and over what had happened at the hospital that afternoon. Well, what had happened? She kept on saying to herself, “Nothing—nothing—nothing.” But it wasn’t any use saying that when you felt sick with misery. Nothing had happened—nothing at all. You had to keep on saying it. It was like being in a boat with the water coming in through a hole you couldn’t see—you had to keep on baling. But if the hole was too big, it wasn’t any use, the water would swamp you.
She saw Ronnie’s face, all pleased and lighted up as she had seen it when she got to the hospital. The pleased look wasn’t for her. She had a bare half-minute of thinking it was, and then he was telling her about Nurse Blackwell being transferred to Brighton, to the home he was going to. Nurse Blackwell was the pretty girl who laughed. She always looked as fresh as if she hadn’t anything to do except look like that. Ronnie said, “Isn’t it marvellous?” Ellie said, “Marvellous— ” Her voice sounded like a tired echo. She felt like that, too— just an echo fading out. Something cold touched her heart.
Julia struck a chord or two and began to sing. She had what Antony had once called a voice of cream and honey—sweet and rich without being very large. Contraltos are apt to be ponderous. Julia’s voice flowed easily in the old, country songs which Jimmy demanded—“Barbara Allen”—“The Bailiff’s Daughter.” Lois’ drawled “Rather infant school, don’t you think?” was taken no notice of.
Jimmy was asking for “the jolly tune you used to sing— the one with all the animals. You know—we used to call it the ‘Zoo.’ ”
Julia’s laugh rang out quite naturally.
“ ‘Love will find out the way’? All right.”
She began a spirited prelude, and sang to an old and charming tune:
Over the mountains,
And under the waves;
Under the fountains,
And under the graves;
Under floods that are deepest;
Which Neptune obey;
Over rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way.
Some think to lose
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