s, excited way, not like himself:

"You bet you have always been yourself, Sweetness!--in spite of
everything you've always been _yourself_. I am very slow in
discovering it. But I think I realise it now."

"Please," she remonstrated, "you are laughing at me and I don't know
why. I think you've been talking nonsense and expecting me to pretend
to understand.... If you don't stop laughing at me I shall retire to
my room and--and----"

"What, Sweetness?" he demanded, still laughing.

"Change to a cooler gown," she said, humorously vexed at her own
inability to threaten or punish him for his gaiety at her expense.

"All right; I'll change too, and we'll meet in the music-room!"

She considered him askance:

"Will you be more respectful to me, Garry?"

"Respectful? I don't know."

"Very well, then, I'm not coming back."

But when he entered the music-room half an hour later, Dulcie was
seated demurely before the piano, and when he came and stood behind
her she dropped her head straight back and looked up at him.

"I had a wonderful icy bath," she said, "and I'm ready for anything.
Are you?"

"Almost," he said, looking down at her.

She straightened up, gazed silently at the piano for a few moments;
sounded a few chords. Then her fingers wandered uncertainly, as though
groping for something that eluded them--something that they delicately
sought to interpret. But apparently she did not discover it; and her
search among the keys ended in a soft chord like a sigh. Only her lips
could have spoken more plainly.

At that moment Westmore and Thessalie came in breezily and remained to
gossip a few minutes before bathing and changing.

"Play something jolly!" said Westmore. "One of those gay Irish things,
you know, like 'The Honourable Michael Dunn,' or 'Finnigan's Wake,'
or----"

"I don't know any," said Dulcie, smiling. "There's a song called
'Asthore.' My mother wrote it----"

"Can you sing it?"

The girl ran her fingers over the keys musingly:

"I'll remember it presently. I know one or two old songs like
'Irishmen All.' Do you know that song?"

And she sang it in her gay, unembarrassed way:

"Warm is our love for the island that bore us,
Ready are we as our fathers before us,
Genial and gallant men,
Fearless and valiant men,
Faithful to Erin we answer her call.
Ulster men, Munster men,
Connaught men, Leinster men,
Irishmen all we answer her call!"

"Fine!" cried Westmore.