Despite herself, Hope’s voice broke with a little quiver of disappointment, for she had counted so much on this woman’s help; and if she refused, what could be expected from a stranger on whom she had no possible claim for sympathy? Her face looked so drawn and pale that Miss Caldecott’s good-nature could not look at it unmoved.
“What’s the matter, dear? Disappointed! Hateful of me, isn’t it? But I couldn’t sing that song even to please you. I’ll tell you what we will do, though; you shall write another especially for me. Mezzo-soprano, you know; I don’t mind a G now and then, but don’t let me have them too often. And be sure to give me a catchy refrain—something the people want to move their feet to at the end of the second verse—see? Then the words must be domestic. I want a song badly, to sing down Clapham way and places like that, for charities and subscription concerts. Let me see—something about children, I think. Nothing fetches them like children! First verses, major, ‘Happily homeward the children go;’ and about their little troubles, you know, and their little fears, little smiles, and little tears. There! that’s rhyme. I believe I could write it myself. Then comes the refrain—a little swing to it, a little lilt—the same words for the first two verses. Oh, you know the kind of thing! Something to make the mothers cry, and the papas rush off to buy the song next morning. Nothing draws so well as children. And you might change to the minor key at the third verse, and point a moral: we are all children, life’s a journey, and we shall grow tired, too, and fall asleep at the end of our day. There! Never say I didn’t give you an idea. You write that for me, and we’ll make a fortune out of it.”
“Thank you. Oh, how kind you are! I see it exactly. I’ll try my very beat. It is so very, very good of you to give me the chance!”
Miss Caldecott yawned wearily. “So close, isn’t it?” she said. “I hate this muggy weather. Some people say it’s good for the complexion, but I don’t believe it. I use that new American powder. Have you tried it? There’s the bell! I expect it is the Elliotts. They said they were coming.”
“Then perhaps we ought to—We have stayed a long time already,” said Philippa, rising. “Thank you so very much for seeing us at all.”
“Oh, won’t you wait for tea? Good-bye, dear,” cried Miss Caldecott all in one breath, and without waiting for a reply to her question; and the sisters went out into the narrow passage, to squeeze their way post three tall, smartly dressed girls who were engaged in arranging their veils and pulling out their fringes before the little strip of mirror in the hat-stand. They walked down the street in silence, turned the corner, and exchanged bright, amused glances.
“Our first introduction into professional circles! How very, very funny she was! How many times did she call us ‘dear,’ I wonder? Not very formidable, was she?”
“But, oh, what a lovely voice! So rich and full! I suppose it is because she has not had a thorough musical education that she hasn’t come to the front, and because she isn’t quite—quite—But it is a shame to criticise,” cried loyal Hope. “How kind she was! How perfectly sweet of her to ask me to write that song! Phil, Phil, don’t you think I am fortunate! Don’t you think it’s a good beginning? I have an idea for the song already, and she is almost sure to take it; it is as good as a commission.”
Philippa looked at the shining eyes, and could not endure to breathe discouragement; but in her heart of hearts she reflected that she should be sorry indeed to place any reliance upon the promises of Miss Minnie Caldecott.