The San Francisco call., 1910-06-12

and her professional training was al
most perfected when she learned the
old lesson, amor vincit omnia; and she
chose the home sphere She has not
regretted the choice. she says, quietly,
stroking the head of her youngest boy;
though Qaughingly) If it were to be
done again-who knows? She wishes
that one OF the children might have in
herited her voice. but like their father.
they care little for music.
I make morning call. to ask her to
share with me bit OF good fortune.
two concert tickets. and find her deep
in household matters. She explains
cheerily that there is a baking to be
finished, C carpet to be mended and a
new gown to be planned from an old
one before noon; but that II can walt
a little she will soon reach q stopping
place and be ready to talk II over.
amuse myself at the piano, and pres
entity look up from an uncanny and
fearful little Swedish folksong to md
her standing in the doorway, foury
rolling pin in her hand. her eyes moist,
her lips trembling. II used to sing
that" she says abruptly; then she
smiles brightly and vanishes again.
with don't you dare to pity mel writ
ten in every line of her figure. She has
given a glimpse of her other self
She is finally persuaded to go to the
concert. but with difficulty, for she ar
CUES that such treats are rare, and one
Of the daughters should go. am OBJ
durate, however, and on the night ap-
pointed we are at last safely settled in
our modest seats. At the first chord Of
the opening number | note the soft
flush on my friends cheek. the sweet
relaxing of the lines about her firm yet
sensitive mouth, and the look of loving
greeting in her gray eyes. The mo-
bile face responds to every shade Of
emotion voiced by the orchestra, and
not a tender sigh OF the strings, not
stirring call of the brasses is lost. Soon
the second number, Kaleidoscope Gre
alton of the modern school, follows. II
is new to her, and the method Is uffa-
rniliar, but the musicians instinct has not
rusted With the keenness of a nlAthe-
matician on the trail of an unknown
quantity. she grasps message and the
ory alike, appreciative OF every tech
nical effect.
Number three begins, and at the first
notes she gives an involuntary little
sigh of pleasure. 1t is the old Seventh
Symphony, which she has long known
and loved. The noble, familiar strains
are like cordial; every eager sense
seems to drink them In and look with
wonder to see my quiet housewife trans
formed into a queenly creature, all fire
and spirit. At the close. she gives me
a radiant look and gentle hand-pres-
sure, but we do not speak.
Now the soloist is upon the stage,
smilingly acknowledging her welcome:
she Is to sing Ophelia's mad scene, into
which the tender old Swedish folksong
is so beautifully interviewer. My COM
panion's interest is tense. She leans a
little forward her fine. dark face alert,
breathing lightly. with nostrfls -dilate
and lips slightly apart, her long, artist
hands tightly clasped. When the last
pure, velvety note dies away and the
house breaks into applause, she sinks
back into her seat with little sigh
that is half a sob. and on her face is
the light of eager, pathetic girlhood.
And / might have done that" is what