When it was over the mysterious one made her way to the corridor whence she had come.
“Who was she?” Jeanne asked in an awed whisper. Something in Solomon’s manner suggested that he might have come from a visit with a queen. And so he had—a queen of her own beautiful realm.
“That,” he said, his eyes twinkling merrily, “that was our Marjory—Marjory Bryce.”
“Mar—Marjory Bryce!” Jeanne took a step backward. She knew that name. It belonged to the queen of grand opera, known to the great city as Our Marjory.
“But where did she come from?”
“Where but from the Opera House?” He waved a hand at the corridor where the lady from musical fairyland had vanished.
“Is Grand Opera over there?” Jeanne looked her incredulity.
“Did you not know? Come!” He took her hand and led her down that corridor to its end. There he opened a door into a world unknown, a world that in the days to follow was to become a veritable fairyland of beauty, romance and adventure. It was a vast auditorium, much the same as the Civic Theatre, though many times larger.
“So this is the home of Grand Opera!” The place was deserted. Jeanne went whirling away across its vast stage in a wild dance.
“Some day,” she cried, clasping her hands like a child asking for a doll, “may I dance here before all the people?”