The Open Question Part 64

She caught his hands, and pressed them in an ecstasy of relief and gladness. He was moved himself when he saw her happy eyes were wet.

"I didn't hear one of those notes last night. What did you do with your voice then?"

"Grandma--she'd put down her foot--soft pedal--she's done that all my life."

"Sing something--I'll play for you."

He swept her off the piano-stool.

"I don't know much but ballads."

She pulled the yellowed sheets out of the stand, wondering as she turned them over which, if any, of these songs he had heard sung by great artists. She was on the point of asking him, when, "Oh," she said, jumping up, "here's this from 'Trovatore,'" and she set the music before him with the firm intention of rivalling that Patti people made such a fuss about. She sang the English words, "Ah, I've sighed to rest me,"

and not without a certain largeness of effect intensely satisfying to herself.

"There's no doubt," he said, at the end, "that you have a voice. You, naturally, don't in the least know how to use it; but it's there."

This was not what she had expected--in fact, it was a blow; for, in spite of her old desire to be taught, she looked towards a singing-master chiefly as a personal influence to help her into the operatic field. She felt it a grievance against her family that she had had no early advantages, and yet she had thought it more than probable that genius could do without them. But what if cousin Ethan was right?

All the more need not to lose time.

"The question is," she said, "What's to be done?"

"Done?"

"Yes."

It flashed over her in the pause that he might think she was hinting that he should defray the expense of her training, and this suddenly seemed as repulsive to reason and to dignity as if five months before she had not calmly suggested it herself. It was Heaven's own mercy that letter had got lost! She must have been crazy when she wrote it.

"Of course," she said, "my family can't do much, and"--looking at him half apologetically, and feeling the necessity to forestall him--"I couldn't allow any one else to do more than give me advice and letters of introduction. I have my plans all laid--but now my father's ill."

"What plans?"

"I was going to New York with my father next month to look over the field"--at his look of incredulity, she added: "operatic field. As I haven't any money, and can't possibly borrow, I must find a way to be a chorus-girl first."

"What an idea!"

He got up from the piano, and walked the length of the room and back.

"A very good idea."

"My dear Val--"

He stopped.

"No, cousin Ethan"--she motioned away his imaginary offer--"the Ganos don't borrow money, they do without."

He smiled a little.

"Did grandmamma approve of this chorus-girl plan?"

"Of course she wouldn't. It's only father who knows."

"Does he approve?"

"Well, not to say approve, but he knows it's no use objecting."

"Do you know, I don't approve of it either."

She sat down on the piano-stool, looking at him doubtfully. Was this an offer of a million in disguise? or could it be--

"You don't mean," she said, "that you won't give me any letters of introduction?"

"I mean, little cousin, that I'll do all in my power to keep you from the hards.h.i.+ps and the hurts of public life."

He put a hand on her shoulder, and was looking down upon her. She opened her lips, but no sound came.

"There won't be any lack in _your_ life of beautiful and worth-while things; don't spoil it all--don't spoil yourself by being too eager."

"Y--you don't understand," she faltered, with a suffocating sense of throbbing in her throat.

"Oh yes, I do. I understand a lot. Promise me you won't take any steps about this without letting me know."

She shook her head, and tried to draw from under the thrilling touch of his hand.

"I shall not let you go till you promise."

The other hand had fallen on her other shoulder. It was as if chains were being hung upon her. But why wasn't she struggling? Why--why was bondage so sweet?

"I'm waiting. Promise!" said the masterful voice.

"I--promise."

The tumult in her heart made the clang of the dinner-bell sound as if it were ringing in some far-off place.

"What--what was it I promised?" she asked herself again and again.

CHAPTER XXI

It struck Mrs. Gano the next day, as they were out driving, that Val was unusually subdued. She seemed to see nothing that they pa.s.sed, hear nothing that was said. But it could not be said she looked unhappy. And Ethan was in excellent spirits. Emmie was bowing right and left, bowing with that air she had rapidly acquired, and was sedulously cultivating, a royal-condescension-to-the-crowd kind of bow.

"Who is that?" asked Mrs. Gano, seeing Emmie's pantomime, and seeing, too, that Val had made no sign.

"Mr. Peter Hall."

"What! Not the young Pete Hall that I recommended to Blakistons?"