'Have a drink out of my glass.

It's only ginger-beer; it can't hurt you.

This is jolly! Ain't it a lark to be alive ?' The pale-faced girl who had sung of May-blossoms looked across the table with eyes in which jealousy strove against admiration.

There were remarks aside between the men with regard to Thyrza's personal appearance.
She must sing again.

They were not going to be left with hungry ears after a song like that.