“Indisposed! Unable to appear!” repeated the manager, angrily. “And why the d—l must she take this particular evening to be sick? I don’t believe a word of it. Go to her, and tell her we can’t spare her.”
“It is reported,” said the messenger, deprecatingly, for Mr. Bowers was in one of those moods when it was difficult to make him listen to reason; “it is reported that she has a fever, and will not be able to appear for some time.”
“A fever! And what business has she to have a fever?” growled the manager. “Well,” said he, after a brief pause, “is there nobody to take her place?”
“I know of no one.”
Mr. Bowers mused a moment. “It won’t do,” he thought, “to omit the songs altogether, especially to-night, when we are likely to have so many other shortcomings. I have it, Jeffries,” he exclaimed. “Did you notice the child who left the office as you entered?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you think you should know her again?”
“I think so.”
“Then follow her immediately, and bring her back with you. Say I wish to see her.”
When Helen left the theatre, she walked very slowly, as if to gain time to become reconciled to her late disappointment. What a revulsion of feeling had a single half-hour wrought in her! Her high hopes had been dashed to the earth, and nothing was left but a sense of humiliation and rebuked presumption. Had she but been invited to sing, by way of testing her powers, that would have been something; but to have been refused so coldly and peremptorily, might well depress her.