impromptu platform and now stood by
his side, a pretty girl, a very pretty girl, a girl who acknowledged the
scattered applause with a smile which showed two dimples on one cheek, a
girl who looked neither shy nor conceited, but simply as if she were
enjoying herself very much, and expected everybody to do the same. She
was going to sing. It would be a relief to listen to singing after the
continued performances upon the piano. They hoped sincerely that she
could sing well. Why didn't the accompaniment begin?

Then suddenly a white-gloved hand gave a signal, Mr Helder's hands
descended on the keys, and at the same instant from between Claire's
pursed-up lips there flowed a stream of high, flute-like notes,
repeating the air with a bird-like fluency and ease. She had chosen the
old-world ballad, "Cherry Ripe," the quaint turns and trills of which
lent themselves peculiarly well to this method of interpretation, and
the swing and gaiety of the measure carried the audience by storm.
Looking down from her platform Claire could see the indifferent faces
suddenly lighten into interest, into smiles, into positive beams of
approval. At the second verse heads began to wag; unconsciously to
their owners lips began to purse. It was inspiring to watch those
faces, to know that it was she herself who had wrought the magic change.

Those moments for Claire were pure undiluted joy. Whistling had come to
her as a natural gift, compensating to some extent for the lack of a
singing voice; later on she had taken lessons, and practised seriously
to perfect her facility. At school in Paris, later on in attending
social gatherings with her mother, she had had abundant opportunities of
overcoming the initial shyness; but indeed shyness was never a serious
trouble with Claire Gifford, who was gifted with that very agreeable
combination of qualities,--an amiable desire to please other people, and
a comfortable assurance of her own powers.

At the end of the third verse the applause burst out with a roar.
"Bravos" sounded from every side, and "Encores" persisted so strenuously
that Claire was not permitted even to descend from her platform. Mrs
Willoughby rustled forward full of gratitude and thanks. Mr Helder
rubbed his hands, and beamingly awaited further commands... What would
Cecil have to say to a success like this?

Claire's second choice was one of Mendelssohn's "Songs without Words," a
quieter measure this time, sweet and