“Billy, just listen to this!” she exclaimed, reading from the paper in her hand. “'A new tenor in “The Girl of the Golden West.” Appearance of Mr. M. J. Arkwright at the Boston Opera House to-night. Owing to the sudden illness of Dubassi, who was to have taken the part of Johnson tonight, an exceptional opportunity has come to a young tenor singer, one of the most promising pupils at the Conservatory school. Arkwright is said to have a fine voice, a particularly good stage presence, and a purity of tone and smoothness of execution that few of his age and experience can show. Only a short time ago he appeared as the duke at one of the popular-priced Saturday night performances of “Rigoletto”; and his extraordinary success on that occasion, coupled with his familiarity with, and fitness for the part of Johnson in “The Girl of the Golden West,” led to his being chosen to take Dubassi's place to-night. His performance is awaited with the greatest of interest.' Now isn't that splendid for Mary Jane? I'm so glad!” beamed Aunt Hannah.
“Of course we're glad!” cried Billy. “And didn't it come just in time? This is the last week of opera, anyway, you know.”
“But it says he sang before—on a Saturday night,” declared Aunt Hannah, going back to the paper in her hand. “Now wouldn't you have thought we'd have heard of it, or read of it? And wouldn't you have thought he'd have told us?”
“Oh, well, maybe he didn't happen to see us so he could tell us,” returned Billy with elaborate carelessness.
“I know it; but it's so funny he hasn't seen us,” contended Aunt Hannah, frowning. “You know how much he used to be here.”
Billy colored, and hurried into the fray.
“Oh, but he must have been so busy, with all this, you know. And of course we didn't see it in the paper—because we didn't have any paper at that time, probably. Oh, yes, that's my fault, I know,” she laughed; “and I was silly, I'll own. But we'll make up for it now. We'll go, of course, I wish it had been on our regular season-ticket night, but I fancy we can get seats somewhere; and I'm going to ask Alice Greggory and her mother, too. I'll go down there this morning to tell them, and to get the tickets. I've got it all planned.”
Billy had, indeed, “got it all planned.” She had been longing for something that would take her away from the house—and if possible away from herself. This would do the one easily, and might help on the other. She rose at once.
“I'll go right away,” she said.
“But, my dear,” frowned Aunt Hannah, anxiously, “I don't believe I can go to-night—though I'd love to, dearly.”