"You mean what even every boy must feel, that you should like to make a home for yourself; but the reward is after the race,—the victory at the end of the struggle."
It appeared to me very readily that he here addressed something in his own soul; for his voice had fallen. I urged, "I know it, sir; but do tell me the names of those two girls,—I won't let them know you told me."
He laughed long and heartily. "Oh! yes, willingly; you would soon have heard their names, though. The little one is Laura Lemark, the child of a person who has a great deal to do with the theatres in this town, and she is training for a dancer, besides being already a singer in the chorus at a certain theatre. Your mother would not like you to visit her, you may be sure; and therefore you should not try to know her. I placed you near her because she is the most knowing of all my pupils, except Miss Benette,[7] the young person who sat next you this evening."
"With the lovely voice? Oh! I should never know her if I wished it."
"You need not wish it; but even if you did, she would never become troublesome in any respect. She is too calm, too modest."
"And pray, tell me, sir, is she to be a dancer too?"
"No, oh, no! She will decidedly become one of the finest singers in England, but I believe she will not go upon the stage."
"You call the theatre the stage, sir, don't you?"
"Yes, in this instance."
"But why won't she go upon the stage? Cannot she act?"