But while Mr Letts was quoting Thomas Moore’s line--in a corrupt
form--to the Commissioner, Dr Koomadhi was accepting, with a certain
amount of dignity, the greeting which was extended to him by Miss Hope,
the Commissioner’s daughter, in the drawing-room. She had been trying
over some songs which had just arrived from England. Two of them were of
a high colour of sentimentalism, another belonged to that form of poetic
composition known as a coon song. It had a banjo obbligato; but the
pianoforte accompaniment of itself gave more than a suggestion of the
twanging of strings and the banging of a tambourine. Had Dr Koomadhi
arrived a few minutes sooner it would have been his privilege to hear
Gertrude Hope chant the chorus--
“Don’t you belieb un, Massa John,
Jes’ winkie mid y o’ eye,