“You don’t know how pleasant the real applause will be,” said Rosa, feeling as if she were telling a snowdrop to hold up its head, for the sun was so pleasant to stare at. What could she say to the child, who had no vanity and no ambition—nothing but a loving heart.
“You will like to please me and father?”
“Yes,” said Violante, “but if I should cry, father would—would—”
“Oh, nonsense, you won’t cry.”
“If father would let me—I would rather teach singing all day!”
“But you know you could not make nearly so much money in that way. And father wants the money, Violante, indeed he does.”
“Oh yes—I know it must be done—I will not make a fuss.”
“That’s a good child. And you will not have to sing only to strangers. Think how kind the Tollemaches are to us, how pleased they will be with you.”
Violante flushed to her very finger tips, and Rosa felt her heart throb.
“They will not like me then,” she murmured.