“This may be the last chance we’ll have together like this,” he said
softly, “before the offer comes. While you’re still one of my songbirds,
let me hear you sing some of the old pieces, like _Annie Laurie_ and the
_Last Rose of Summer_. I’ll play along and just dream.”
“Yes,” she replied warmly. “You’re an angel! I’ll sing anything you like.”
And so she sang him the old songs down in the stuffy little cabin; and
his eyes kept right on glistening, though he smiled up at her from time
to time quite happily. Yes, she sang as no one, surely, had ever heard
her sing before. The impresario had tuned her up for big money; but now
she was singing just for him.
When he had finished, stealthy forms might have been detected moving away
from the passage outside—not only songbirds, but seamen too, the mate
and the ship’s cook and the cabin boy; while up on deck Captain Bearman,
who had been secretly listening himself at one of the ventilators, was
roaring and cursing because his ship was lying all unmanned, at the mercy
of the elements.
It was really a shocking state of affairs.