Sweet and clear, like the liquid notes
of a lark, her voice soared up, until,
forgetting her own identity in that of
Donizetti’s Swiss heroine, she became
almost inspired; and at the close a per
fect shower of bouquets rained down
upon the stage at her feet—an ovation
of voices rang up again and again in
deafening applause. But Margaret was
conscious only of one thing—she bad
aot failed.
Mrs. Allenby welcomed her raptur
ously to the pretty little “green-room.”
“My dear Miss Ashton,” she cried,
“yon are a genius—a second Jenny
Lind I Who was to suppose that you
had such a divine voice ? Yon are the
star of my little concert—the prima
donna of the evening I No, don’t take
your bonnet,” as Margaret mechanically
stretched out her hand for it. “You
must come in to the drawing-room.
They are all wild to know,you.”
“ But I cannot,” pleaded poor Mar
garet, with a downward glance at her
dress. “I am not prepared.”
“You are perfect,” said Mrs. Stewart
Allenby, with winning despotism. “ Be
sides, one of my guests says you are an
old acquaintance of his—Mr. Hepburn,
who has just returned from Palestine
and the Holy Land.”
So Margaret was led into the midst
of the glittering throng, and introduced
here and there, until, like one moving
in a dream, she found herself leaning on
Basil Hepburn’s arm.
“ So yon are a great singer,” he said.
“ I never sang in public before in all
my life.”
“You will be prouder and more
haughty than ever."
'• I never was humbler in all my life.”
“ Margaret,” he uttered, softly,
“ Well, Mr. Hepburn ?”
“ Mr. Hopbum 1, That sounds cold.
