Beulah would have demurred, but at this moment she saw Dr.
Hartwell's buggy approaching the house. Her heart seemed to spring
to her lips, and, feeling that after their last unsatisfactory
interview she was in no mood to meet him, she quickly descended the
steps, so blinded by haste that she failed to perceive the hand
Eugene extended to assist her. The door-bell uttered a sharp peal as
they reached the hall, and she had just time to escape into the
parlor when the doctor was ushered in.
"What is the matter?" asked Eugene, observing the nervous flutter of
her lips.
"Ask Miss Dupres to sing, will you?"
He looked at her curiously an instant, then turned away and
persuaded the little beauty to sing.
She took her seat, and ran her jeweled fingers over the pearl keys
with an air which very clearly denoted her opinion, of her musical
proficiency.
"Well, sir, what will you have?"
"That favorite morceau from 'Linda.'"
"You have never heard it, I suppose," said she, glancing over her
shoulder at the young teacher.
"Yes; I have heard it," answered Beulah, who could with difficulty
repress a smile.
Antoinette half shrugged her shoulders, as if she thought the
statement questionable, and began the song. Beulah listened
attentively; she was conscious of feeling more than ordinary
interest in this performance, and almost held her breath as the
clear, silvery voice caroled through the most intricate passages.
Antoinette had been thoroughly trained, and certainly her voice was
remarkably sweet and flexible; but as she concluded the piece and
fixed her eyes complacently on Beulah, the latter lifted her head in
proud consciousness of superiority.
"Sing me something else," said she.
Antoinette bit her lips, and answered ungraciously: "No; I shall have to sing to-night, and can't wear myself out."
"Now, Beulah, I shall hear you. I have sought an opportunity ever
since I returned." Eugene spoke rather carelessly.
"Do you really wish to hear me, Eugene?"
"Of course I do," said he, with some surprise.
"And so do I," added Mrs. Graham, leaning against the piano, and
exchanging glances with Antoinette.
Beulah looked up, and asked quietly: "Eugene, shall I sing you a ballad? One of those simple old tunes we
used to love so well in days gone by."
"No, no. Something operatic!" cried Antoinette, without giving him
an opportunity to reply.
"Well, then, Miss Dupres; select something."
"Can't you favor us with 'Casta-Diva'?" returned the beauty,--with
something very like a sneer.