The girl fell back on her pillow, dismayed, and clasping both hands, held them out imploringly.
"Oh! I thought you had given it up."
"Foolish child! I never give anything up. Ask Brown."
It was true; that woman never gave up her own will to any one. The possibility of sacrifice or willing concession could not enter her mind.
"But I cannot, I cannot! Oh, mother! think how little I have seen of crowds. To sing before one would kill me!"
"Mother!" repeated Olympia, "how often must I tell you that I hate the word!—an American vulgarism!"
"Forgive me, mamma; it was only because I was so frightened at the idea of singing in public. But I know that you did not mean it."
The poor girl made a pitiful attempt at disbelief, and tried to win acquiescence with a timid smile.
"I not only mean it, but will have no more evasion or protest. When we left New York, you were dying to get on the stage."
"Oh, that was before I knew—before I dreamed—"