"Sing the banner brown up high, I'll sing thee named, O -"
It was a familiar cheery song, to a familiar tune. Gwen finds herself joining in the melody on the second line even before she finds herself wondering who was singing.
The singer's pure pristine flutelike voice is more perfect than Mother or Father or Pathred or anyone she'd heard. If she ever got to the Royal Music Academy, she's sure anyone there would've schemed great schemes for such a voice.