Then back of that lay another point of pride. "Perhaps he will be there to see me," she thought.
For all these months, while she had silently fought her own heartache, Winn Hardy's face and words had been ever present.
All the covert flatteries he had spoken in the cave, all the praises of her playing, the description of the wonderful woman before whom the world bowed, the tender words of love he had uttered, to end with one cold letter of dismissal, and she left to rise above and conquer her own pain alone and unaided, came back now.
It was well that they did.
And when the supreme moment of her trial came, and robed in spotless white, without an ornament, save her matchless eyes, her perfect throat, her rounded arms, she stepped into view of that audience, not for one instant did she falter.
The Alhambra was filled that evening with its usual gathering in search of pleasure. A few hundred blasé men and women who had seen everything on the boards of the regular theatres now drifted into this, hoping for a new sensation. Twice as many more store girls whose escorts had brought them there because admission was cheap, and a medley of all sorts, old and young. The saucy balladist in short skirts had sung her song, the soloist in black had picked off his banjo act, the acrobats had leaped and twisted and turned, the magician pulled a stock of worsted balls, a hoopskirt, and a rabbit out of a silk hat borrowed from the audience, and then, after frying an egg in it, returned it unharmed; and the usual vaudeville program was nearing its end when those listless people saw Mona step out from the wings and, without once lifting her eyes to them, bow slightly, and raising her violin, begin playing.
And even as Winn's heart had been touched by the wonderful sweetness of her simple music that day in the cave, so were theirs reached now.
It was not classic, or new, or unheard before—just a medley of old-time Scotch airs that carried the mirth of a merry dance and the mood of tender love. But the mirth and the mood were there, thrilling, quivering, whispering, even as a human voice would speak.
And when the yearning of that medley ended its final appeal, and Mona for the first time raised her eyes to them as she bowed, a storm of applause that fairly shook the building greeted her.
Again and again was it repeated, until, bending her queenlike head, she once more raised her violin.