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then the soprano came forward and announced that she would sing ‘Home Sweet Home,’ which as you know is heavy and extremely sentimental. Afterwards, to cheer us up, she would give us Yum-Yum’s delightful, lighthearted song from The Mikado, ‘Three Little Maids.’ “
    “Much better,” Tassie agreed. “That goes along at a lovely pace. Although she hardly sounds like my idea of Yum-Yum.” And she hummed a bar or two cheerfully.
    “‘Marvelous’ is overstating it rather a lot,” Eustace said critically. “Good song ruined.”
    Emily ignored him. “She faced us all,” she continued, “composed her features into lines of deep emotion, and began slowly and very solemnly with a blast of sentiment—only the piano bounded away with the trills and twitters of a rollicking rhythm!”
    Only Jack Radley’s face registered understanding.
    “‘Be it ever so hu-u-mble,’” Emily mimicked sonorously, at once savage and doleful.
    “Da-di-di-dum-dum, da da dee-ee,” Jack sang with delight.
    “Oh no!” Tassie’s eyes lit with joy, and she started to giggle. Sybilla joined in, and even Eustace smiled in spite of himself.
    “They trailed off, scarlet-faced,” Emily said enthusiastically. “The soprano stammered her apologies, wheeled round, and charged to the piano, where Miss Arbuthnot was fumbling wildly through sheets of music, scattering them to the floor. They gathered them all up, muttering fiercely together and wagging their fingers at each other, while we all sat and tried to pretend we had not really noticed. Nobody said anything, and Charlotte and I dared not look at each other in case we lost control. Finally they came to some agreement, new music was set up on the piano, and the soprano advanced purposefully to the front of the floor again and faced us. She took an enormous breath, her beads jangled at her throat and all but broke, and with tremendous aplomb she began a spirited rendition: ‘Three Little Maids from school are we, filled to the brim with girlish glee’ ...” She hesitated a moment, staring straight into Jack Radley’s dark blue eyes. “Unfortunately Miss Arbuthnot was crashing out the ponderous chords of ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ with a look of intense longing on her face.”
    This time even the old lady’s mouth twitched. Tassie was helpless with giggles, and everyone else chortled with pleasure.
    “They struggled on for a full three minutes,” Emily said finally, “getting louder and louder, trying to outdo each other, till the chandeliers rattled. Charlotte and I couldn’t bear it any longer. We stood up at precisely the same moment and fled through the chairs, falling over people’s feet, till we collided in the doorway and almost fell outside, clasping each other. We gave way and laughed till we cried. Even Mama, when she caught up with us, didn’t have the heart to be angry.”
    “Oh, how that takes me back!” Vespasia said with a broad smile, dabbing at the tears on her cheeks. “I’ve been to so many ghastly soirees. Now I shall never be able to listen to an earnest soprano again without thinking of this! There are so many fearful singers I should like such a thing to happen to—it would be such a mercy for the rest of us.”
    “So should I,” Tassie agreed. “Starting with Mr. Beamish and his songs of pure womanhood. I suppose with a little foresight it could be arranged?” she added hopefully.
    “Anastasia!” Mrs. March said, with ice in her voice. “You will do nothing of the sort. It would be quite irresponsible, and in the worst possible taste. I forbid you even to entertain the idea.”
    But Tassie’s smile remained radiant, her eyes faraway and shining.
    “Who is Mr. Beamish?” Jack Radley asked curiously.
    “The vicar,” Eustace said frostily. “You heard his sermon on Sunday.”
    Great-aunt Vespasia smothered a deep gurgle in her throat and began to take the stones out of her grapes assiduously with a silver knife and fork, placing them with