“It sounds all right,” I said. “I take it that we really want to do the acting among ourselves, as much as possible, and entertain the rest of the people and then all wind up with a dance.” “Exactly,” said Claire. “The only outside talent, as far as one can see at present, will be Mrs. Harter,” said Bill Patch--and he was genuinely quite unconcerned about it, too. But I saw that Nancy Fazackerly knew well enough that Claire wasn’t going to stand for _that_. “Mrs. Harter?” There was more than one note of interrogation in Claire’s way of saying it--quite three or four. “You remember how rippingly she sang ‘The Bluebells of Scotland’ the other night?” “Oh, yes, I remember that.” “We thought of her, for the ‘Bulbul Ameer’ song at the beginning because one really does want someone who’ll pronounce all the words distinctly. And she’s got a good ‘carrying’ voice, if ever I heard one.” “I daresay,” said Claire distantly. Bill Patch looked from one to another of us, and I remembered how, the first time I saw him, he had reminded me of a Clumber spaniel--so young, and awkward, and eager--and now, evidently, so much puzzled as well. “Her voice really is a very good one,” said Mrs. Fazackerly pleadingly. “And I’m rather sorry for her, do you know. After all, in Egypt she must have had a very amusing time and known heaps of people--and now to come back to Cross Loman--” “Where she came from!” ejaculated Claire. “I know--but that makes it harder, in a way. She’s outgrown the people whom she saw most of when she was Diamond Ellison--and after all, she wasn’t so very much more than a schoolgirl when she married and went away. I think she feels a little bit stranded sometimes.” “Where is Mr. Harter--and what is he?” Claire demanded. “He is a solicitor--and he’s still in the East, but he may come home this summer. I don’t think the marriage is a very happy one,” said Mrs. Fazackerly, looking down. I fancy that to all of us there then came a momentary vision of crockery, propelled violently through space, after the reckless habit that report had imputed to Mrs. Fazackerly’s excitable partner. “It would be so very kind of you, Lady Flower, to say that we may ask her to help with the show,” said Nancy, raising her pretty eyes to Claire’s face, and speaking with her habitual flattering deference. “You see, if once you gave a lead, Mrs. Harter wouldn’t feel out of things any more.” “And,” said Captain Patch, not quite so diplomatically, “it would be such a shame to waste that beautiful voice.” “Who is going to play your accompaniments--or do you rise to an orchestra?” I interrupted. “I can play the accompaniments,” said Mrs. Fazackerly radiantly. “It’s all I’m good for. I have no voice and I can’t act. Which reminds me that some of the Kendals really ought to be asked to take part, oughtn’t they, after General Kendal has so very kindly provided those boots?”