“She is a public singer.”
“Do you know her?”
“Yes; I heard her sing at Vienna.”
“Yes, yes; but do you know her to speak to?”
He considered half a moment, and then said he had not that honor. “But,” said he, rather hurriedly, “somebody or other told me she had come out at the opera here and made a hit.”
“What in—Siebel?”
“I don't know. But I saw large bills out with her name. She made her de'but in Gounod's 'Faust.'”
“It is my Siebel!” cried Zoe, rapturously. “Why, aunt, no wonder Harrington admires her. For my part, I adore her.”
“You, child! That is quite a different matter.”
“No, it is not. He is like me; he has only seen her once, as I have, and on the stage.”