bit. I like it. I'm waiting for the voice. '_O Richard, O mon
roi!_'--"

But the music had stopped.

"There!" cried Mrs. Tuke. "You've frightened him off! And we're
dying to be serenaded, aren't we, nurse?" She turned to Alvina. "Do
give me my fur, will you? Thanks so much. Won't you open the other
window and look out there--?"

Alvina went to the second window. She stood looking out.

"Do play again!" Mrs. Tuke called into the night. "Do sing
something." And with her white arm she reached for a glory rose that
hung in the moonlight from the wall, and with a flash of her white
arm she flung it toward the garden wall--ineffectually, of course.

"Won't you play again?" she called into the night, to the unseen.
"Tommy, go indoors, the bird won't sing when you're about."

"It's an Italian by the sound of him. Nothing I hate more than
emotional Italian music. Perfectly nauseating."

"Never mind, dear. I know it sounds as if all their insides were
coming out of their mouth. But we want to be serenaded, don't we,
nurse?--"

Alvina stood at her window, but did not answer.

"Ah-h?" came the odd query from Mrs. Tuke. "Don't you like it?"

"Yes," said Alvina. "Very much."

"And aren't you dying for the song?"

"Quite."

"There!" cried Mrs. Tuke, into the moonlight. "Una canzone
bella-bella--molto bella--"

She pronounced her syllables one by one, calling into the night. It
sounded comical. There came a rude laugh from the drive below.

"Go indoors, Tommy! He won't sing if you're there. Nothing will sing
if you're there," called the young woman.

They heard a footstep on the gravel, and then the slam of the hall
door.

"Now!" cried Mrs. Tuke.

They waited. And sure enough, came the fine tinkle of the mandoline,
and after a few moments, the song. It was one of the well-known
Neapolitan songs, and Ciccio sang it as it should be sung.

Mrs. Tuke went across to Alvina.

"Doesn't he put his _bowels_ into it--?" she said, laying her hand
on her own full figure, and rolling her eyes mockingly. "I'm _sure_
it's more effective than senna-pods."

Then she returned to her own window, huddled her furs over her
breast, and rested her white elbows in the moonlight.

"Torn' a Surrientu
Fammi campar--"

The song suddenly ended, in a clamorous, animal sort of yearning.
Mrs. Tuke was quite still, resting her chin on her fingers. Alvina
also was still. Then Mrs. Tuke slowly reached for the rose-buds on