She gave no sign of agitation. "His voice?" she asked, quietly. "Ain't the boy's self nothing to your church?"
"Not," he answered, "to the church."
"Not to you?"
"It is very much," he said, gravely, "to me."
"Well?"
He lifted his eyebrows—in amazed comprehension. "I must say, then," he said, bending eagerly towards her, "that I want the boy?"
"The boy," she answered.
For a little while she was silent—vacantly contemplating the bare floor. There had been no revelation. She was not taken unaware. She had watched his purpose form. Long before, she had perceived the issue approaching, and had bravely met it. But it was all now definite and near. She found it hard to command her feeling—bitter to cut the trammels of her love for the child.
"You got to pay, you know," she said, looking up. "Boy sopranos is scarce. You can't have him cheap."
"Of course!" he hastened to say. "The church will pay."