The Washington herald. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1906-1939, 1915-04-13
1ks Wife Must Not Aeeompaay HI
to Europe.

could see readily. In the two days
since Madames tour had brought her
| TO Los Angeles. where she remained
as the guest of her old friend and
compatriot, he had learned more Of
her human side than many years con-
seeing that he WAS not alone in find
ing the road hard. the fruits turned
. bitter upon the palate
| Little Dora twisted her ankle one
morning while | was busy with a
pupil. Young Merwin was driving past
and helped the child. He recognized
me lmmed ately. though 1 had quite
, n, hlnn-you see he was nothing
but voice to me-but when he re-
called that evening and the scene"
He shrugged apoogetically. shcep!shly,
! Well l knew that it was Fate I
offered to- cultivate his voice and take
my pay in the future, when it had
proved ITSELF
And you wish me 20 listen when he
comes"
He is waiting now" de Retskv
sh'Iieu as ne consulted his watch. He
Is always early for his lesson, unwilI-
Ing to lose moment of the time" He
nodded to the maid who ushered into
the room a blushing. roughly clad
young man, who flushed holly as he
returned the friendly pressure of the
great vocalist's hand. then turned nat
urally to the piano as she expressed
the desire to hear his voice
Her eyes lighted admiringly at his
GOODNESS. the quiet confidence with
which he accepted the professors
choice of the aria from Boheme that
most difficult, most complex in its de-
mands of all tenor solos, the utter for
getfulness of her presence. And then
her critical senses were swept away
even as de Retsky's had been before
her. and the Judgment OF one artist
upon tyro gave place to unmixed de-
light as Merwin lavishly poured forth
his voice.
She sighed as de Retsky turned upon
her. smiling delightedly at the obvious
impression his pupil had made.
You were right. de Retsky. right"
she murmured. 1T is a voice that he
longs to the world, a voice that does
not belong TO Won any longer. You
are the singer. old friend. more than
the great teacher OF voice production.
This is The Voice. IL belongs to
Spreglia, OF Paris: Lamperti. in Der
lin: old Vanuncchini. of Florence.
Synney Dalton. here in the United
States. in New York. shall have II fin
ally. And he will coach. will make the
opera singer out of the man with The |
Voice. Oh. shall attend to all that. l
must have my share in this discovery. !
de Retsky.
She turned to where the singer had
been and de Retsky frowned as he saw .
his protege had slipped away under ,
cover OF the great vocalist's enthu- !
siasm. lie looked at her ureasily for .
some sign of irritation, hut a smile /
lurked about the corners Of her mouth. |
The little country girl who was |
feeding the turkeys" she said softly, |
a curious glitter in her eyes as though ,
a vagrant tear had somehow found a
resting place there. "Ah. well. il will .
make her happy. de Retsky. And hap
piness should he crowded upon her
now
The two who had eaten of the fruit
avoided meeting eyes. II was as though
they feared to read each others fear.
as though they realized themselves but
children kindling bonfires in dry virgin
forests.
And their fear seemed by some odd
freak to have transferred itself to tiny
cottage in the outskirts OF the city,
where little woman bent her head the
lower over her knitting while her hus-
band joyOusly. eagerly told for the
twentieth time OF his experience She
could not analyze the mixture Of emo
lions Juggling at her very heart strings
the JOYOUS ache. the leaden ectasy, the
delight all struggling there for
ma stery.
Europe. Ann. The greatest teachers
Of the world. Just think of it. Why il
seems impossible. Wealth, fame. honor.
everything"
The tear that had trembled SO long
a time upon the fringe of her lashes
dropped to the tiny shoe upon which
she was knitting. chung there until his
eyes rested upon it. He lifted the
dimpled chin, looking sesrchingly into
the eyes of her and something stern.
selfish. something she had
lever seen before in his own eyes made
her rise confusedly.
Aren't you happy. Ann Aren't you
glad? Can't you see what II means"
She trembled violently under the pres
sure of his sands upon her shoulders
And yet she knew 1t was not that
precious weight that seemed so heavy,
70 onorous. Then in a tempest of senti-
nent she flung herself against his broad
hest. smuggling there as though for pro-
lection from some grotesQue face that
obtruded between them.
His voice was puzzled as he attempted
% lift the face against his chest.
Aren't you happy, Ann" he repeated.
She nodded a trifle jerkily. then slow
y lifted her eyes to meet his own. Hon
st eyes they were. loving. worshipful
yes they were patient eyes. the eyes
hat belong to women whose souls are !
70 sensitive they chill before the mere J
hadow Of impending tragedy.
so happy, Henry, that-I'm afraid Of
tot nay happiness" she answered ,