“By Jove, Houston! but what a voice that girl has! I never heard anything like it in my life. I didn’t say much before Miss Gladden, for fear she might think I didn’t appreciate her singing, and I certainly did, for she sings magnificently.”
“You need have no fear of any sensitiveness on Miss Gladden’s part,” said Houston quickly, “in the first place, their voices are altogether different, there is no comparison between them; and in addition, Miss Gladden’s regard for Lyle is so disinterested and unselfish, there would be no room for any feeling of that kind. We must all acknowledge that Lyle certainly has a wonderful voice; as I said before, I have heard but one like it.”
“Great Heavens!” said Rutherford, with more feeling than Houston had ever seen him manifest, “I’m sorry for that girl, Houston.”
“Why?” asked Houston quietly.
“Why, only to think of her beauty and intellect, and such a voice as that, and then think of her parents, and the life to which she is tied down here.”
“Granting the parents and present life,” said Houston, “is that any argument that she will always be ‘tied down here’ as you say?”
“I think it would always fetter her in a measure; it will leave its imprint upon her mind, or at least her memory, and although she is not in her proper sphere here, yet her life here, and all its associations, would be likely to make her feel out of place in a higher sphere,”
“I think not,” said Houston, watching Rutherford closely, “I think if she could be removed from here, and given a thorough education, there would remain no trace whatever of the early life.”
“But what about the question of heredity?” asked Rutherford, “there must be bad blood there, when and where would it make its appearance?”
“That would be a serious question,” replied Houston, “providing she is the child of these people; I have always had grave doubts of that, and Miss Gladden has often expressed the same.”