"I will try my best," answered Clara gently. And then she sang the air again—precisely as she had sung it before.
"Now," cried Miss Piper, jumping up and clapping her hands in an ecstasy of triumph, "it is perfect—absolutely perfect!"
She poured out unstinted thanks and compliments to both singer and accompanist, observing to the latter that this recalled the great days of the public performance of "Esther," and that she considered Miss Bertram's rendering of "Hear, O King," far superior to that of the well-known vocalist who had sung it originally. "But then, you see, she could not, or would not, take a hint. Consequently—although, of course, she sang the notes perfectly—she never fully mastered my conception. Now a word has been enough to show Miss Bertram the inner meaning of my music; and she interprets it in the most exquisite manner."
Before going away May contrived to have a few words with Clara Bertram in her room.
"It is such a pleasure to hear you sing again," said May. "How I wish Granny could hear you!"
"Will not your grandmother be here to-morrow evening?"
"Oh no," answered May, colouring. "She does not go out to parties. Granny does not belong to the class of the ladies and gentlemen who come here. Her husband was a tradesman in this town. But she is the finest creature in the world. And she has more real dignity than any one I know."
"Your grandmother lives here? But then—how is it—your mother is not a foreigner?"
"A foreigner? Good gracious! No. My mother was Miss Susan Dobbs. She died years ago, when I was a little child. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothing. I fancied—Valli said something about having known Madame Cheffington abroad."