“Why!” exclaimed James, as they emerged into the street, “That poor girl looked frightened to death.”
“Oh,” said Emily, “she is always frightened before strangers. How ever she will sing on Tuesday I cannot think; but what do you think of her, Mr Crichton?”
“I think she is very pretty,” said James, rather dryly.
“A pretty little simpleton,” said Mr Tollemache: “but a month or two’s experience will make all the difference. It is to be hoped her father will take care of her. But I believe she has an admirer—the manager of the operatic company here—so I suppose she may be considered very fortunate. Her voice is valuable, and she will be very handsome.”
James nodded assent, but something in the thought of the young childish girl with her shy solemn face and frightened eyes touched him.
“It’s rather a case of ‘Heaven sending almonds to those who have no teeth,’ isn’t it?” he said. “Poor little thing!”
“Oh, the almonds will taste sweet enough, I daresay,” said Mr Tollemache. “If not, they must be swallowed, somehow.”
“Well,” said Emily, “on Tuesday we shall see how she gets on.”