As he left the stage with Senta at the end of the second act, a messenger handed him a card.
"The gentleman is waiting," he added. "He said he must see you, and that he was in a hurry."
Thayer glanced at the card.
"Bring him to my dressing-room," he said.
He glanced up in surprise, as the door opened and Bobby Dane entered. He had expected to see Bobby, immaculate in evening clothes, come strolling lazily in to congratulate him, as he had so often done before when Thayer had sung in cities near New York. Instead, Bobby was still in morning dress, and his face and manner betokened some great excitement.
"I only heard your duet," he said abruptly; "but they are saying you have outdone yourself. Will it break up your part, if I tell you some news?"
Thayer paled suddenly.
"Is Beatrix—"
"No; but the boy died at six o'clock, this afternoon. I went to the house; but I found there was nothing I could do, so I caught the seven o'clock train and came up to tell you. Sure it won't upset your singing?"
Thayer shook his head impatiently.