She figured once at a masked ball that was raided by the police
Sightseers drift in, too, from everywhere, look curiously about, as if expecting some remarkable and extraordinary occurrence at any moment, and failing in that, they take chairs at the nearest table, and give meek orders to the aggressive waiter for liquors which they seem afraid to drink.
At stated intervals someone sings a song, and between times the music plays a waltz for those who care to dance on the bit of polished floor reserved for that purpose.
The very dregs of high life.
It is the lees of the wine.
Just a few years ago—so short a time that it seems almost like yesterday—a young woman was singing in light operas and doing occasional turns in vaudeville. If I were to tell you her name now it would have as familiar a sound to you as the name of any other popular performer.
One of her distinguishing characteristics was her voice, which had a remarkable and extraordinary range.
And how she could use it.
She was absolute master of it, and there was no doubt about her success, nor her future, either, barring accidents, of course.
Besides that she was good to look at. She was of a distinctive style of beauty, and she had a fetching way with her which spelled magnetism.