“Ah-ha!” said Mrs. Hesketh, giving her a sharp look, “thus we have planted the first seed!”
Saturday evening arrived, the Parish Room was packed to the doors and window-sills, and there was a good deal of clapping when Miss Glyn, radiantly pretty in her white school frock, was led upon the platform by the Rector. Her aunt, sitting in the front row, looked distinctly grim. Letty’s instinct was correct; it was true that she had been fiercely if secretly opposed to this exhibition! she did not wish to see the girl brought forward—at least not yet: Colonel Fenchurch, on the other hand, was the embodiment of triumphant expectation, and was prepared to lead the claque.
When the prelude on the battered village piano had ceased, Miss Glyn opened her pretty mouth, and began to sing “The Sands of Dee.”
Her voice was exquisite; honey-sweet, and full of restrained passion. She gave this most beautiful tragic song, with extraordinary dramatic expression, and yet in a simple, natural fashion, from the authoritative—
“Go, Mary, call the cattle home,”
till where the last words died away in a tremulous, half-stifled sob.
When she ceased, there was an awestruck breathless silence; in fact, you might have heard the fall of the proverbial pin.
What sort of singing was this? people asked themselves. Something new; something that gripped your heart-strings, something wonderful! Then came thunders of applause, shouts and hammerings and stamping with sticks and feet, such as never had been heard within the walls of the Parish School-house, yells of ‘Encore!’ to which the singer smilingly acceded and gave them “Robin Adair.” Again her audience listened with rapture.
Mrs. Fenchurch was equally astonished, and annoyed, by the composure and aplomb of a girl who in every-day life was so timid and retiring. To-night, she presented the confidence and air of a prima donna of twenty years’ experience; but Letty was for once upon solid ground; she knew her own capabilities, and the radiant and acclaimed Miss Glyn, was a totally different individual from the timid, wistful girl, who suffered herself to be scolded and hustled about The Holt.
In short, that evening Miss Glyn made her name, not only as a marvellous singer with a voice which the baker’s wife—who had been to London—compared to Patti’s—but also as a beauty!