“Will you kindly tell me the meaning of this?” he demanded hotly.
“It means—nothing, signor, nothing at all. I have an engagement to-day. I cannot take my lesson from you.”
But he saw the trouble and pain in her eyes instantly and caught her hands in his.
“Now, listen, Carlota, you know all this means to me—to us. They would never have come at all if it hadn’t been for you. You heard what she said. Chandos is the English painter downstairs. He’s heard you sing and has told them about it.”
Slowly the tears gathered heavily to her lashes. She had given him the full benefit of all she had learned from the great Jacobelli, and now he would give it to this girl for a few paltry dollars.
“Why do you have to take her when she has everything? Go down through the Quarter and find some poor singer. Take even the children. But give it freely, not for money. I cannot bear to see you acting like old Pietro before such people. Grateful? Do you think that Jacobelli was ever grateful in his life?”
“What do you know about Signor Jacobelli?” he demanded teasingly. “You’re angry because she called you a city sparrow, my nightingale, and you’re right, but I can’t afford to turn down such a chance. I’ve got to live here if I am to work on my opera and succeed, and this is enough for me.”
“You may do as you like, but I shall not come here as long as that girl takes lessons from you.”
“But can’t you see how it will benefit us both?” He stopped before her impatiently. “You are my star pupil. Perhaps I might even persuade Mrs. Nevins to let you sing at one of her musicales. If I could get her interested in my opera, think what it would mean for me, dear—”
“I did not think you were of the kind who seek patronage,” she said slowly. “I will not come again. Not for one instant would I sing for that woman. You have no ideals. I believed you were altogether different.”