Esther hesitated a moment, smiling.
“That will be charming,” Glenn whispered to her, inclining his head. He smiled slightly as his eyes met hers.
His approval was what she had waited for—that was plain. The next moment she had graciously indicated her willingness by taking up her violin that Mrs. Low had sent for before she came.
The sight of Stephen Kent at the piano and Esther beside him made the rooms silent in an instant and stilled the unseen harpist. Glenn Andrews kept close watch upon the crowd as it stood in mute attention. It was to note how she was received. He had forgotten his share in the honors. Stephen Kent sang the passionately poetic words; the exquisite commingling of the voice and violin suddenly awoke in the poet the thought of what sincerity of the soul there was in those words.
In the heat of the enthusiasm that followed the encore some one grasped Glenn Andrews’ hands. “And those lines are perfectly exquisite. I am wild to hear all of your libretto.”
“Oh, indeed!” he answered, staring, and that moment it was the effort of his life to know what she meant.
“Libretto?” he said to himself. “Oh, when I heard such playing I forgot I had written anything,” he declared, with a laugh. He was extremely shocked to discover that he had composed the words.
“Aren’t you a little crazy?” the expression on her face asked, as Mrs. Low came up and led him away. She had become devotedly attached to him during their life in Paris.
“If that is a fair sample of your opera, it will be most enchanting.” The hearty words carried with them something of the sincere interest she felt.
“You are very kind, Mrs. Low. Your approval is a great compliment to our poor efforts. You, of course, know its success means a better future to both of us; the financial part of it being of no slight importance.”