Startled by the abruptness of the proposition, Zuleime raised her eyes to the beautiful, dark, irritated countenance before her, without replying.
“You don’t understand me. Well, then, to put it plainer, if nothing better at all could be found for you, would you absolutely refuse to go upon the stage?”
Zuleime had understood her very well, and if she still hesitated, it was from a reluctance to wound the spirit of the actress.
“Do you, then, consider the histrionic profession disreputable?” asked Mrs. Knight, with the same suffering, querulous, almost cross expression of the eyes.
“No,” said Zuleime, very gently, “I do not. Not the profession that Mrs. Siddons ennobled. I think it truly
“‘The youngest of the sister arts,
Where all their beauties blend.’”
“Well, then, my question—Would you object to going on the stage yourself?”
“I am not fit for it,” replied Zuleime, evasively.
“I do not know that. I need not tell you that you are young and pretty, and singularly graceful—nor that you have a very fine voice for singing—these form a very good foundation. And in elocution, my dear, I would myself become your instructress. What say you?”