“Oh, I hope I shall please them. I shall try so hard.”
“You just leave dat to me,” said Herr Deichenberg. “Any young lady who played as you did at my concert, need have no fear of facing a metropolitan audience.”
“The plan is, Miss Calvert,” Mr. Ludlow went on, in a thoroughly business-like tone, “if your New York concert proves a success, for you to sign contracts to appear next season under my management in the principal cities of the country. When we know positively that this is advisable, we will discuss terms, and I assure you we shall not quarrel over the matter of a few dollars, more or less.”
“I’m sure we won’t,” replied Dorothy.
Aunt Betty found herself hoping for the success of the plan. All opposition to the matter seemed, for the time, to have slipped her mind.
Mr. Ludlow bade them good-by shortly after, and left in company with Herr Deichenberg.
Dorothy closed the door softly behind them, then, happy that her ambition was at last to become a reality, threw herself in the arms of Aunt Betty and sobbed:
“Oh, auntie, auntie, it has come at last, but it won’t—it won’t take me away from you.”
“We must not be too sure of that, my dear,” Aunt Betty replied, as calmly as she could. Her wildly-beating heart cried out for the love and sympathy that she knew only this girl could give her. How could she ever, ever bear to give her up?
“Auntie, dear,” Dorothy said, straightening up and wiping her eyes with quick, nervous little dabs, “if such a thing as separation is even suggested, I shall never move a step from old Bellvieu—never, never!”