“He said he would make my fortune,” she declared. “He praised my voice so much, and told me I was wonderful, and that I should make a great hit. But he made me promise not to tell any one I was going. He said he wanted to have the credit of discovering me, and all that sort of thing. I knew mother and father would be horrified, but I thought it was too good a chance to lose, and that I’d risk their anger. Because, if I turned out a success, and made a lot of money, they would be very proud,” she added.
The instinctive knowledge of human nature shared by the pillars of the Church, caused Anne despite her anxiety, a secret smile.
“I thought he was so kind,” Sylvia went on pitifully, “and he seemed so nice at first, but lately he’s been different, and his manner has been so funny. He—he looked at me in a horrid way yesterday,” she confessed, “and held my hand tight, and when I tried to get away, he laughed. But my contract’s signed,” she declared with a wail of despair in her voice.
“Haven’t the principals of this place interfered?” Anne inquired. “The matron, or whoever it is who’s supposed to look after you?”
“They think I’m going home,” confessed Sylvia in an abashed voice. “I managed it so that they should think so.”
Anne rose, and with a terrified expression, the girl clung to her hand.
“Oh! Miss Page,” she gasped. “You’re not going? I’m to sail to-morrow night, and——”
“Don’t be frightened, you silly little thing. Of course you won’t sail to-morrow, nor any other night. Give me the address of this man.”
Sylvia falteringly repeated it.
Anne wrote it down, and stooped to kiss her.