"Lyric soprano," he said, finally. "Fine! Big! God-given!"
"Maestro—you mean that?"
"Heigh-ho!" he said on a sigh, walking over and placing his hand on Zoe's curls. "I make up my mind I am seeck of this business. I wait only for this war to live my day quietly in Capri, where I have my casa, and now a new nightingale flies in at my window. Twice now. Ten years ago comes Carrienta out of just such a clear sky, and once more, when I am again sure that one voice is only more unmusical than the rest, comes this—"
Standing there, Lilly was fighting an impulse to faint. She remembered, with terror, previous sensations, and fought off the vertigo, biting down into her lips. She wanted to smile, but her mouth felt numb, as if it dragged instead of lifted.
"You—you make us very happy—maestro."
"Some day," cried Zoe, still thrilling from her effort, "I will sing until my high C hits the sky!"
'I think you will, bella mia, if you have in you the power to work for it."
"I have."
"Art is the most cruel paymaster in the world. It exacts full recompense, toil, and heartache before it deals out a first payment in success."
"I'll pay! I'll pay for what I want, and most of all I want to sing!"