"Rod Royal," was the reply.
There was no doubt about it now, and involuntarily the woman reached out her arms toward him. She drew them back, however, and placed her hand to her forehead.
"Are you ill, Miss Royanna?" Mr. Markham enquired. "I am afraid that these boys are tiring you. They must leave at once."
"Yes, I do feel tired, and wish to get back to the hotel."
"And you won't go to the concert?" Rod questioned anxiously. "Whyn will be so disappointed."
The woman's eyes were now fixed full upon the boy's face. She saw his lips quiver, and her heart went out to him with one mighty rush. How she longed to clasp him in her arms, shower kisses upon his little tanned face, and tell him all. But, no, she must not do it yet. There was a reason why she should delay. With an effort, therefore, she restrained herself.
"Will you come with me to the hotel?" she asked. "We can talk it over there."
"But, Miss Royanna," the manager warned, who saw that she was much drawn toward the boys, "you must not make any rash promises, You are in great demand, and it will be a bitter disappointment to many if you do not sing tomorrow afternoon."
"Leave that to me, Mr. Markham. I shall not disappoint any one, not even these boys."
"And so you intend to go to the concert," the manager remarked, as they were being bowled swiftly along in the car to the hotel.