"Indeed he did," the lady replied, "I never heard a more excellent voice."
"Well, he's my own Uncle Harry!" said Flossie, a world of love and pride in her voice.
A young girl played a serenade on the guitar, and a member of the orchestra played a waltz for violin, and both were encored.
Those who were to perform were in a small room awaiting their turn. They were laughing and chatting while they waited, and all, save a little girl, who kept apart from the others, seemed bright and happy. Her eyes were dull, and her red lips pouting. It was Floretta Paxton, and she was watching Nancy Ferris, noticing every detail of her costume, and looking as unpleasant as possible.
Nancy wore a frock of white gauze, thickly strewn with tiny gold spangles. Her girdle was white satin, her slippers were white, and she wore a cluster of pink rosebuds in her hair.
"What's she going to do?" Floretta asked in a fretful voice, but Mrs. Paxton, who stood beside her, could not tell her that. She knew no more of Nancy's talent than Floretta did.
Floretta had been angry in the afternoon; she had foolishly refused dinner, and was very hungry; she was made more angry because hers was not the first number on the program, and now, here was Nancy Ferris wearing a beautiful frock that far outshone her own!
She was wearing a simple pink muslin, and had felt that she was finely dressed, until Nancy appeared.
The satin girdle, the white slippers, and the spangles were more than she could forgive.
"What's she going to do?" she asked again, more fretfully than before.