"Well, we can't tell—I may go with you," predicted Miss Worth with an amused smile.
As the import of Miss Worth's proposition filtered into her comprehension, an efflux of joy and gratitude bubbled up from the girl's heart and tinged her dimples with carmine and overspread her cheeks. She sat for a minute beyond words. Her eyes strayed to the open window, and her gaze continued on over the pine tops, as though fixed intently upon a tiny mote that had bobbed about and gesticulated on the horizon of her child-dreams, but which was now resolved out of mythical vagueness into a poignant reality that was growing and speeding toward her with her own humble life for a goal, and with a pageantry of opportunity that dazzled and overwhelmed her senses.
Slowly, very slowly, she turned her flushed face and fixed her eyes, now moist and brimming with love, gratitude and homage upon Miss Worth. Her bosom lifted as she looked mutely into the face that smiled down upon her. Then Belle-Ann's round chin lowered and her curls were on the woman's breast and her arms crept up and around and locked about the neck of her benefactress. Miss Worth patted her shoulder, and whispered words through her curls, and presently Belle-Ann whispered back to her.
"But can I be worth it—could I ever—ever—be worth it? Besides, I could never, never, pay you-all back," she deplored tremulously.
"Surely you can, sometime—you will have money of your own—that is, you may become a great prima-donna," she ended optimistically. Belle-Ann sat up straight.
"Prima-donna," she repeated uncertainly.
"Yes—you know, Belle-Ann, even in your simple old-timey song, 'Kitty Wells,' I have wondered at the volume and peculiar quality of your voice, and have compared the strength of that peculiar cadence to that of great singers I have heard. I believe that your voice holds all the fundamental requisites of an operatic singer. Anyhow, we are going to have your voice cultivated to its highest perfection—and who can tell—you may in time become a prima-donna."
Belle-Ann hung upon Miss Worth's utterances with an intentness that lent to her an attitude of listening to some seductive melody coming from afar.
"Prima-donna—prima-donna," she murmured softly and wonderingly. "Prima-donna—but don't tell me—let me find it, Miss Worth—I am not sure of its meaning." Whereupon, she skipped across the room and returning with her dictionary, flurried over its pages eagerly and swiftly.
"P-r—p-r-i—prima—prima-donna—heah, I have it," she said. "'Prima-donna—the principal female singer in an opera;'—and do they make lots of money?" she inquired quickly.