She knew that her voice was superior to Annabel’s, and she had no further qualms. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. “My wife refused absolutely to have anything more to do with me. “I had those beautiful roses from you on my first night, and a tiny little note but no address. All that was needed to complete the simile was that the girl should burst into song.
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