‘I venture to predict,’ said the tragedian, ‘that Miss Allen will become an ornament to the profession.’
‘I am afraid,’ said Barbara, rising from the piano, ‘that after all I may be only wasting your time. I have not asked your terms, and—I am—I have not much money.’
‘Miss Allen,’ said the tragedian, ‘unless I am much mistaken, you will not long have to mourn that unpleasant condition of affairs.’
‘Are your parents aware of your design, Miss Allen?’ This from the lady.
‘I have no parents,’ faltered Barbara. ‘I am living with my uncle.’
‘Does he know your wishes in this matter?’
‘No,’ said Barbara, and the feeling of guilt returned.
‘If he is willing to entrust you to my tuition,’ said Mrs. Lochleven Cameron, ‘I should be willing to instruct you without charge on condition that you bound yourself to pay to Mr. Cameron one-third of your earnings for the first three years.’
This opened up a vista to Barbara, but she was certain that her uncle would give his consent to no such arrangement.
‘You had better lay the matter before your uncle, Miss Allen,’ said the tragedian. ‘Without his consent, Mrs. Lochleven Cameron could not see her way to an arrangement. She is; aware—as I am—of the undeserved stigma which has been cast upon the profession by bigotry and ignorance. She has no respect for the prejudice—nor have I—but she will not violate the feelings of those who are so unfortunate as to suffer under it.’