"Sing!" said Ronald, and his face contracted with a menace of tears.
"Oh, do, if you don't mind," urged Teresa hastily.
Crayven, with a deprecating smile, threw back his head and gave the Moslem call to prayer, in a clear, ringing, echoing falsetto, an astonishing volume of sound, penetrating, strange, dying away in a long melancholy high note. Ronald's face lit up with a look of perfect satisfaction; throwing out a toy elephant, which had occupied the post of honour in his bed, and putting the walking-stick in its place, he lay back on his pillow, languidly content.
"Aunt Teresa, can I come in?" said a small, sharp voice at the door.
It was Ernestine, befrilled and beplumed, bringing a bunch of flowers for Ronald.
"Oh, poor little fellow," she murmured, bending coquettishly over the bed to kiss him.
Ronald repulsed her vigorously and would have none of the flowers. Ernestine had once slapped him, and his dignified little personality had never forgiven the affront. He now began to cry with fatigue, and both the visitors had to go. Crayven said, as he took Teresa's hand:
"This is good-bye for a day or so, I'm sorry to say. I've had a telegram from Adela—she arrives to-night at Montreux for a few days. She's motoring about. I'm going down by the night
