"You get used to it in time," said one of the piano students, a tall, pretty girl with chestnut hair, just out of her teens, who stood working her fingers about as if to keep her joints supple. "I thought I should have died at my first concert, and now I don't really care very much."
"I think a good audience is rather inspiring," said a violoncellist, a self-conscious young fellow whose long waving hair and artistic necktie proclaimed him a budding professional. "I can always play better from a platform. A little applause seems to spur one on."
"Yes, if you get it," said another, nervously rubbing resin on his bow. "That generally remains to be seen."
"I've never missed an encore at any concert I've played at," returned the first confidently. "I shall be astonished if my Barcarolle is not a success, though one can't expect much real musical appreciation from town councillors and an ignorant public. I believe they'd applaud a German band!"
"Not so ignorant as you seem to think," said a third student, coming up to join the group. "I don't know any audience that can tell good music from bad better than a Kirkton one. It needs your best work to give satisfaction, and there's always a full and most intelligent criticism in the Herald next day."
"I suppose the old Professor's exploiting you," said the violoncellist, turning to Mildred. "He isn't keen on juvenile prodigies as a rule. The last he had was little Mathilde Zimmermann, and she did nothing after all! Do you go out to 'At Homes'?"
"Oh, no!" replied Mildred. "This is the first concert I've ever played at—except just at school. I don't want to now, only Herr Hoffmann says I must."
"They aren't running her professionally, so she won't interfere with you or your engagements," put in the piano student. "She's the Professor's pet pupil at present, that's all. But if you don't wake up, she'll take the shine out of you some day, so look to your laurels!" Then, speaking to Mildred, she added kindly: "Don't mind him, dear! You'll find when you begin to play in public that you'll meet with a good deal of jealousy from other performers, but you mustn't let it worry you. The music's the only thing to care about, and if one can interpret that, one feels it's something to live for, in spite of all."
"Are you ready, ladies and gentlemen?" cried the Professor, entering in a perfect whirlwind of excitement. "Ze hall is already full! It is ze hour! Ze audience await us. Come, we commence!"
The first selection on the programme was an "Overture to Lucretius", and as nearly all of the company were members of the students' orchestra, Mildred found herself left alone with the few piano pupils. She had often attended concerts, but so far had always been numbered among the audience. This was her first peep behind the scenes, and it seemed strange to listen to the music from the back of the platform. She could hear the applause at the conclusion of the overture, and the duet for violin and violoncello which followed.