"
"Did you like Petersburg?"
"No, I couldn't bear it. I caught cold there."
"And that was why you hated it?"
"Yes. I went out one night with Fritz on the Neva to hear a woman in a
boat singing--a peasant girl with high cheek-bones--and I caught a
frightful chill."
"Ah!" said Sir Donald. "What was the song? I know a good many of the
Northern peasant songs."
Suddenly Lady Holme got up, letting her gloves fall to the ground.
"I'll sing it to you," she said.
Robin Pierce touched her arm.
"For Heaven's sake not to Miss Filberte's accompaniment!"
"Very well. But come and sit where you can see me."
"I won't," he said with brusque obstinacy.
"Madman!" she answered. "Anyhow, you come, Sir Donald."
And she walked lightly away towards the piano, followed by Sir Donald,
who walked lightly too, but uncertainly, on his thin, stick-like legs.
"What are you up to, Vi?" said Lord Holme, as she came near to him.
"I'm going to sing something for Sir Donald."
"Capital! Where's Miss Filberte?"
"Here I am!" piped a thin alto voice.
There was a rustle of skirts as the accompanist rose hastily from her
chair.
"Sit down, please, Miss Filberte," said Lady Holme in a voice of ice.
Miss Filberte sat down like one who has been knocked on the head with a
hammer, and Lady Holme went alone to the piano, turned the button that
raised the music-stool, sat down too, holding herself very upright, and
played some notes.
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