“Can you sing these, Miss Ford?”
“I will try, sir.”
“Mind,” premised the manager, cautiously, “I don’t promise to engage you, even if your singing is satisfactory. As I said before, our company is already full, but there may be a vacancy some time; and if so, I shall want to know where to look for some one to fill it.”
Mr. Bowers threw himself back in his arm-chair, and, with a magisterial wave of the hand, signalled Helen to begin.
She paused a moment, as if to collect herself, resolutely putting aside the feeling of embarrassment which was stealing over her. She felt that she had too much at stake to hazard all by giving way to nervous weakness. It was not long that she suffered from timidity. She commenced singing in a low voice, but gradually confidence came to her, and it acquired strength. Her voice was wonderfully sweet and flexible. Mr. Bowers started slightly when she commenced, and at once became attentive. More than this, he was charmed. The whole room became vocal with melody. Even on the stage, where the actors were listlessly rehearsing their parts for the evening, Helen’s voice was heard, and they quietly gathered about the entrance, and listened in mute surprise, wondering what musical prodigy had so seasonably turned up to supply the place of Miss De Forrest.
The song ceased, and Helen stood in silence, awaiting the manager’s verdict.
Mr. Bowers had been delighted with an exhibition of talent so far surpassing his most sanguine expectations. But managers are not enthusiastic, and he was far too polite to express all he felt. That would have been quite unprofessional.
“You have done very well, Miss Ford,” he said, graciously. “You have not overrated your talents, as is the case with some who aspire to sing in public. Of whom have you taken lessons?”
“My mother taught me to sing.”
“Indeed! And was your mother a professional singer?”