"I think so," and the Princess began a sort of glorified humming, like a great drowsy bee, all resonant and tremulous.
"Tell me the words," she said, and Delia recited them, as a mother would, to humor a petted child.
The Princess lifted her voice and pressing the General to her, began the song,
"Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise."
Soft the great voice was, soft and widely flowing; to Caroline, who had retreated to the further end of the music-room, so that Delia should not see her tears, it seemed as if Delia herself, a wonderful new Delia, were singing her, a baby again, to sleep. She felt soothed, cradled, protected by that lapping sea of melody that drifted her off her moorings, out of the room....
Vaguely she saw Miss Honey, relaxed on the red throne, smile in her sleep, one arm falling over the broad seat. Was it in her dream that some one in a blue and white apron—not Delia, for Delia was singing—leaned back slowly in the
