" And when the laughter had subsided, she went on:
"There wasn't any mustard, and it was the best I could think of.
Besides, Matt McCarthy saved my life with it once, down at Dyea when I
had the croup. But you were singing when I came in," she suggested.
"Do go on."
Jake Cornell hawed prodigiously. "And I got done."
"Then you, Del. Sing 'Flying Cloud' as you used to coming down the
river."
"Oh, 'e 'as!" said the Virgin.
"Then you sing. I am sure you do."
She smiled into the Virgin's eyes, and that lady delivered herself of a
coster ballad with more art than she was aware. The chill of Frona's
advent was quickly dissipated, and song and toast and merriment went
round again. Nor was Frona above touching lips to the jelly glass in
fellowship; and she contributed her quota by singing "Annie Laurie" and
"Ben Bolt." Also, but privily, she watched the drink saturating the
besotted souls of Cornell and the Virgin. It was an experience, and
she was glad of it, though sorry in a way for Corliss, who played the
host lamely.
But he had little need of pity. "Any other woman--" he said to
himself a score of times, looking at Frona and trying to picture
numerous women he had known by his mother's teapot, knocking at the
door and coming in as Frona had done. Then, again, it was only
yesterday that it would have hurt him, Blanche's rubbing her feet; but
now he gloried in Frona's permitting it, and his heart went out in a
more kindly way to Blanche.
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