“There’s no must at all in the matter, except the musts you make,” Linnet answered, trembling. “If you say she must go, Mr Wells will cut her out, I suppose, to please you. Only——” and she hesitated.
“Only what?” Will cried, inquiringly.
“Only . . . I’m afraid Andreas wouldn’t like it.”
Her face flushed again. Will looked down at her and paused. A great many thoughts ran through his head in a second. Linnet scanned the floor, embarrassed. After awhile, Will spoke again in a very low tone. “I’d let anybody sing, Linnet,” he said, “with a voice like a frog’s, rather than allow—well, any trouble to crop up between myself and your husband.”
“Thank you,” Linnet answered simply. But she lifted her eyes and gave him one grateful look that was more than full recompense.
“How did Philippina learn English?” Will asked once more, hardly daring to press the subject.
“Oh, Andreas has always taken—well—a very great interest in her, you know,” Linnet answered, with a faintly evasive air. “She went with us to Italy. He kept her on when he paid off the rest of his troupe at Meran; and he got her trained under agreement, and put her into a minor part when I sang at San Carlo. When we came to England first, she went for awhile to Paris; but he’s always been getting her English lessons everywhere. He has a claim on her, he says, for money advanced to train her for the stage. . . . She’s a very good-natured girl, and she’s always been kind to me.”
“I see,” Will answered, with a suddenly sobered air. “Very well, then, Linnet,” and he drew a deep sigh—though not for himself; “she shall sing the part of Princess Berylla.”
“Thank you,” Linnet said simply, with a sigh, once more.
But till then, he had never thought Linnet had that to put up with.