At the end of her song she
did let out for a moment, and, at this well-timed foretaste of her power,
there was applause, but nothing extravagant.
She was quite content, however. She met Ashmead, as she came off, and
said, "All is well, my friend, so far. They are sitting in judgment on
me, like sensible people, and not in a hurry. I rather like that."
"Your own fault," said Joseph. "You should have been announced. Prejudice
is a surer card than judgment. The public is an ass."
"It must come to the same thing in the end," said the Klosking firmly.
"One can sing, or one cannot."
Her next song was encored, and she came off flushed with art and
gratified pride. "I have no fears now," said she, to her Achates, firmly.
"I have my barometer; a young lady in the stalls. Oh, such a beautiful
creature, with black hair and eyes! She applauds me fearlessly. Her
glorious eyes speak to mine, and inspire me. She is _happy,_ she is. I
drink sunbeams at her. I shall act and sing 'Le Parlate d'Amor' for
_her_--and you will see."
Between the acts, who should come in but Ned Severne, and glided into the
vacant stall by Zoe's side.
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