“If Dorothy’s welfare is at stake I shall listen, of course; I should have listened, anyway, but with some prejudice, I will admit. I cannot see where it will do my niece any great good to become a stage celebrity, but if Mr. Ludlow can convince me, I stand ready to acknowledge my error.”
“I am sure that is fair enough,” said Mr. Ludlow, smiling genially. He had a pleasant personality—refined, even striking in the more serious moments, and Aunt Betty felt attracted to him the instant he began to speak.
“A career for your niece, Mrs. Calvert—a professional career—under proper management, is distinctly the proper thing for her. I heard her play at Herr Deichenberg’s concert here last fall, and knew at once that she had an exceptional amount of talent, which, if fostered, under the Herr’s careful methods, would make of her one of the musical wonders of the age. It was then I made my offer—which was merely a tentative one—to Miss Calvert, not meaning to in any way override your authority, but merely for the purpose of sounding her out and winning a promise that she would give me an option on her services, provided she decided to adopt the concert stage as a career.”
“She told me of her conversation with you,” returned Aunt Betty, “and I am free to admit that I was prejudiced against it.”
“You were also prejudiced against riding fast in Gerald’s automobile, auntie,” said Dorothy, smiling. “But Gerald overcame that just as Mr. Ludlow is going to try to overcome this.”
“From speeding in an automobile, to adopting the concert stage as a career, is a far cry, my dear,” returned Aunt Betty, rather severely, Dorothy thought.
Had she known what was passing in her relative’s mind, however, the girl would not for a moment have condemned her. Had she known, for instance, that Aunt Betty’s prejudice against the stage as a career was not at the bottom of her refusal, but the fact that she feared Dorothy would be taken away from her in her old age, just when she had found her a second time, and learned to know and love her, she would have immediately thrown her arms around Aunt Betty’s neck and making no comment have kissed her affectionately.
“Of course, I do not know the state of your finances, nor would I be so presuming as to inquire,” Mr. Ludlow went on, “but it may interest you to know that if Miss Dorothy goes on the concert stage it will mean quite a tidy sum of money for her—and money, I am sure, will always prove a handy asset to have around. So, both artistically and financially, it seems the proper thing for her to do.”
“But I have heard that girls on the stage are exposed to many temptations,” protested Aunt Betty, who felt the ground slipping from under her arguments. Realizing, as she did, that it was Dorothy’s wish that she give the concert stage a trial, she was inclined to be lenient.
“A wrong impression, madame—an entirely wrong impression,” said Mr. Ludlow, emphatically. “There are temptations in stage life, yes; but so there are in other professions, and he or she who falters will find their steps to be hard ones, no matter who they are or where they be. Force of character rules on the stage, Mrs. Calvert, just as it does in every other walk of life. Thus it is that the theatrical profession shelters some of the smartest, most wonderful women the world has ever known. Because a few notoriety seekers have caused the finger of scorn to be pointed at an honorable profession, just as one dishonest employé can, and frequently does, cause a whole institution to be looked at with suspicion, should the dramatic profession, as a whole, be made to suffer? I ask you this in all fairness, madame, and await your answer.”