"Of course she is very striking, Vick. But, you see,—she—she isn't exactly our kind!"
"That is Nan," the young man retorted impatiently. "I never heard you say that sort of thing before. What on earth is 'our kind'? She is beautiful and has talent, a lot of it,—all she wants is her chance. And why shouldn't she have it?"
Isabelle smiled at his heat, and replied caressingly:—
"She shall have all that Nan and I can do for her here. But don't be foolish about her. I suspect you could be with a woman—because of your dear old heart…. If she can't sing a note, she'll make a hit with her looks, Nan says!"
So the musicale was arranged. There were mostly women in Mrs. Lawton's smart little music room when Mrs. Conry rose to sing a series of introductory songs. She was very striking, as Isabelle and Mrs. Lawton had foreseen that she would be,—rather bizarrely dressed in a white and gold costume that she had designed herself, with a girdle of old stones strung loosely about her waist. She was nervous and sang uncertainly at first so that Vickers had to favor her in his accompaniment. He could see the trembling of her white arm beside him. The Cycle of the Cities came near the end of the programme, and when Vickers took his seat to play the accompaniments, he was aware that a number of men had arrived and were standing in the hall, peering through the doors at the performance. He knew well enough what the men were thinking of him, sitting there playing his own songs,—that it was a queer, monkey performance for the son of Colonel Price! The fine arts are duly recognized in American cities; but the commercial class, as always has been its wont, places them in a category between millinery and theology.
She had chosen Paris to open with, and gave the song with assurance, eliciting especially from the men in the hall the first real applause. Then followed Vienna, Munich. She was singing well, gaining confidence. When it came to Venice,—Vickers remembered as he followed her swimming voice the twilight over the Campagna, the approaching mass of Rome,—even the women woke to something like enthusiasm. As she uttered the first note of Rome, she glanced down at Vickers, with a little smile, which said:—
"Do you remember? This is ours,—I am singing this for you!"
Her face was flushed and happy. She sang the difficult music as she had sung that last night in Rome, and Vickers, listening to the full voice so close to him, heard again the high sad note of the street singer, in the golden spring day, uttering this ancient melody of tears,—only this time it was woven with laughter and joy. When she finished, he sought her eyes; but Mrs. Conry was sweeping the gathering with a restless glance, thinking of her encore….
Afterwards the women said agreeable things about Vickers's music, especially the Paris and the Venice. About Mrs. Conry they said that her voice was good, "somewhat uncultivated," "too loud for drawing-room music,"—safe criticisms. The men said little about the music, but they clustered around the singer. Mrs. Lawton looked significantly at Isabelle and winked. One old gentleman, something of a beau as well as a successful lawyer, congratulated Vickers on his "tuneful" music. "It must be a pleasant avocation to write songs," he said….
They dined at the Lawtons', and afterwards Vickers took Mrs. Conry to the hotel. She was gay with the success she had had, the impression she had made on the men.