“There!” she said, at last, with a long gasp, “something which closed up in Paris has given way. I began to feel it when the people at the station cheered so loud. I believe I can sing again.”
She did not wait for Fred to reply, but, standing up, began a song in which she had failed in Paris, her voice rising louder and clearer, and striking the higher notes without a quiver. Then a few bars of the bird song rang out on the air, and was answered by the faint twitter of a robin roused from its first sleep, and thinking, perhaps, that its mate was calling it.
“My voice has come back. I might have sung on the stage and paid my debts myself,” she cried, in an ecstasy of joy, while the moonlight fell around her like a halo, making her face seem to Fred like the face of an angel.
He watched her till her transport of joy subsided. Then, drawing her down beside him, he said:
“Louie, which would you rather be, a star before the footlights or my wife, plain Mrs. Fred Lansing?”
Just what Louie’s answer was only the night wind heard, or the robin, if she was still awake; but Fred was satisfied.
THE END
POPULAR NOVELS
BY