“Dear, I had supposed I was raising you up to something better than a stage career.”
“But, auntie, the stage is all right—it must be, there are so many fine people connected with it. And then, it would be the concert stage in my case, and that is different from dramatic work, you know.”
“Yes; but violinists, as well as other performers, sometimes listen to the call of the dollar, and go from the concert to the variety stage. I am not sure such connections would be the best for my little girl.”
“But, Aunt Betty, it is my life’s ambition,” said the girl, a queer little catch in her voice.
“There, there,” Aunt Betty responded, as she put her arm about the shoulder of her great-niece. “Don’t take what I say so much to heart. We will think this matter over, and you may be very sure of one thing, dear—we shall do what is right and for the best.”
And with this for the time being Dorothy was forced to be content.
The matter was put in abeyance for an indefinite time, however, by a message from Mr. Ludlow, the following morning, in which he said he had been called back to New York earlier than he had expected, but that he would not forget the girl, and upon his next visit to Baltimore during the course of the fall or winter, he would arrange to call and settle matters to Dorothy’s entire satisfaction.
“And who knows, by then I may have won Aunt Betty over,” muttered the girl, who, however, decided to drop the subject until the opportune moment arrived to discuss it.