Thyrza still suffered from the sense that she was doing wrong, but the praise was so sweet to her; sweeter, she thought, than anything she had ever known.

She longed to repeat her triumph.
Totty named another song; the faint resistance was overcome, and again the room hushed itself, every hearer spellbound.

It was a voice well worthy of cultivation, excellent in compass, with rare sweet power.
Again the rapturous applause, and again the demand for more.

Another! she should not refuse them.

Only one more and they would be content.
And a third time she sang; a third time was borne upwards on clamour.
'Totty, I _must_ go,' she whispered.