Her eyes were now lifted
laughingly to Mr. Saunders'. She was so close he must catch that
faintly sweetness of her hair. He returned the look and started to
sing again; while La Beale--no, Aunt Isabel--
Even the names were alike!
Missy drew in a quick, sharp breath. Mr. Saunders, now smiling
straight at Aunt Isabel as she tried to pick the chords, went on:
"They plucked the stars out of the blue, dear, Gave them to you,
dear, For eyes . . ."
How expressively he sang those words! Missy became troubled. Of
course Romance was beautiful but those things belonged in ancient
times. You wouldn't want things like that right in your own family,
especially when Uncle Charlie already had a broken big toe . . .
She forgot that the music was beautiful, the night bewitching; she
even forgot to listen to what Raleigh was saying, till he leaned
forward and demanded irately:
"Say! you haven't gone to sleep, have you?"
Missy gave a start, blinked, and looked self-conscious.
"Oh, excuse me," she murmured. "I guess I was sort of dreaming."
Mr. Saunders, overhearing, glanced up at her.
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