“You mark my words, Rosen,” said Vondergrift again, “the manager of our rival hall across the way will try to get her away from me just the minute he hears her, but he’s not likely to offer her any more than she’s getting. Oh, I know the world and the people in it far better than you do, my friend! I’m a business man, while you are an artist.”
“I guess you are right,” was the drawling answer, “but I flatter myself that I know you pretty well, my dear Otto, and I’m willing to bet that outside of her making money for you, you’ve got designs on the little rustic.”
“Well, if I have, then I am all right about the hundred,” was the laughing answer, “for that girl is too shy to be tempted by a bottle of wine and a supper.”
“Oh, well, it’s none of my business, any way,” said the artist again; “but come, I’m dying to hear her sing. Let’s take her right into the hall—it’s perfectly empty.”
When Marcus Rosen began playing the prelude to the song which Marion was expected to sing, the young girl’s timidity disappeared like magic.
The magnificent toned piano absorbed her whole soul, and she was soon almost unconscious of time or surroundings.
After playing the song over two or three times, the young man motioned for her to sing it.
She did so, and with such an intelligence of expression and such a ready ear that both the manager and the composer were highly delighted.
Marion rehearsed the piece several times in the next four days, first with the piano accompaniment and then with a full orchestra.
The afternoon before the concert she rehearsed for the last time, and as she hurried home to Dollie, she was flushed with excitement.