CHAPTER XIV.

MARION SINGS IN A CONCERT HALL.

Marion was on hand promptly at ten o’clock, and as Otto Vondergrift saw the beautiful face and figure in the broad light of day he chuckled a little over his cleverness in offering her so much money.

“She’ll stick to me now, whereas she might have bolted after the first night if I had offered her less,” he repeated to his friend, the song writer, while Marion waited.

“She is certainly very beautiful,” said Marcus Rosen, as he peered at Marion through the half-open door of a private office.

“You mark my words, Rosen,” said Vondergrift again, “the manager of our rival hall across the way will try to get her away from me just the minute he hears her, but he’s not likely to offer her any more than she’s getting. Oh, I know the world and the people in it far better than you do, my friend! I’m a business man, while you are an artist.”

“I guess you are right,” was the drawling answer, “but I flatter myself that I know you pretty well, my dear Otto, and I’m willing to bet that outside of her making money for you, you’ve got designs on the little rustic.”

“Well, if I have, then I am all right about the hundred,” was the laughing answer, “for that girl is too shy to be tempted by a bottle of wine and a supper.”

“Oh, well, it’s none of my business, any way,” said the artist again; “but come, I’m dying to hear her sing. Let’s take her right into the hall—it’s perfectly empty.”

When Marcus Rosen began playing the prelude to the song which Marion was expected to sing, the young girl’s timidity disappeared like magic.

The magnificent toned piano absorbed her whole soul, and she was soon almost unconscious of time or surroundings.

After playing the song over two or three times, the young man motioned for her to sing it.

She did so, and with such an intelligence of expression and such a ready ear that both the manager and the composer were highly delighted.

Marion rehearsed the piece several times in the next four days, first with the piano accompaniment and then with a full orchestra.

The afternoon before the concert she rehearsed for the last time, and as she hurried home to Dollie, she was flushed with excitement.

“I don’t quite understand about the concert,” she said, anxiously. “It is to be in the big hall that Mr. Vondergrift owns, and there’s another hall called ‘The Olio’ right across the street that is also to be opened with a concert this evening. There are a dozen or more people to sing, or do something at Mr. Vondergrift’s concert, for, of course, he wishes his to be the most attractive.”

“What kind of people are they?” asked Dollie, who was sitting at her typewriter. She was so much better now that she could practice daily.

“That is what I can’t understand,” said Marion slowly. “They can all sing fairly well, and some of them are quite pretty, but some way they seem to me to be very rude—I might almost say, vulgar.”

“What a pity you should have to mix with them,” said Dollie.

“Oh, I don’t!” was Marion’s quick answer. “Mr. Vondergrift has managed that! Why, he lets me wait my turn in a little room all by myself, and to-day he brought me a delicious little luncheon!”

“How lovely of him!” said Dollie, going on with her work.

Not once did it seem to either of these simple girls that Mr. Vondergrift’s attentions meant anything more than kindness.

“See here, Dollie!” cried Marion, with a jolly laugh, “they’ve actually advertised that I am to sing to-night, only they’ve given me a queer Italian name. I suppose they are trying to make out that I am some great singer.”

Dollie looked at the programme that Marion held out to her.

“Signorita Ila de Pailoa,” she read, in an amused voice. “What a terrible name! And what a lot of deceit! Why in the world couldn’t he have called you just plain Marion Marlowe?”

“Oh, that wouldn’t do at all! He explained it to me,” said Marion, a little dubiously. “The public insist upon having foreigners, so he is obliged to fool them. And, besides, Dollie, my name would not suit for another reason—I’m only a country girl, who has had her name in all the papers.”

“You have, indeed, but it was always as a heroine!” said Dollie, proudly. “First they told all about your rescuing me, and then the way they spoke of you at the fire was simply delightful!”

“Well, I’ve had quite enough of it,” said Marion, decidedly. “I shall be glad to be able to stay in the background in future.”

“I wish I could be there to hear you sing,” said Dollie, plaintively, “but I don’t feel very strong yet, and, besides, Mrs. Haley is coming this evening, you know, and I shall surprise her when I tell her that you are singing in a concert.”

“I hope I have done right in keeping it from her,” said Marion, slowly. “Some way, I was afraid she would not approve of my singing in public.”

“If she only knew your motive!” sighed Dollie, plaintively.

“She must never know,” was Marion’s decided answer.

“See here, Dollie, what I am to wear,” said Marion later, as she was opening a bundle. “They have loaned me a dress, because mine is not suitable, and I had to bring it home to see if it needed to be altered.”

She took out a pretty silk dress that just suited her complexion, but both girls were horrified to find that it was very low in the neck, and had no sleeves whatever.

“I don’t mind about the sleeves so much,” said Marion, blushing, “but I’ll never wear a low neck like that, never!”

“Here’s a big piece of lace,” said Dollie, pulling it out of the package. “I expect it is intended for a veil or a mantle, but you can just drape it around your neck and shoulders, and you’ll be as pretty as a picture.”

Marion dressed in the little room that Mr. Vondergrift had set aside for her, and almost before she was ready her employer came to find her.

“What’s that stuff around your neck?” was his first words of greeting.

Marion blushed to the roots of her hair as she answered:

“The neck was too low, Mr. Vondergrift,” she said, simply. “It was fortunate I had the lace, so that I was able to fix it.”

“You are a goose,” said the man, with a frown of displeasure, and just at that moment one of the other singers came to look for him.

Marion took one look at her and almost gasped, for the woman’s dress was cut so low in the neck and so short in the skirt that to Marion’s mind she might almost as well have been naked. There was no mistaking her expression of horror, and Mr. Vondergrift, like a wise man, decided to say no more about her appearance.

“She’ll come to it after a little,” he said to Marcus Rosen, when he left her. “If I had insisted to-night, she would have ‘kicked over the traces,’ and, anyway, it will be a novelty. I hope it catches.”

When Marion’s turn came, she was fairly trembling. Never before in her life had she felt so embarrassed. Only the thought of Dollie and Ralph Moore gave her courage to go on. It was imperative that she should earn that one hundred dollars.

There was a blaze of light as Marion reached the stage, then a blare from the orchestra that sounded strangely confusing.

She had never seen the big hall lighted before, and the row of lights at the front of the stage dazzled her eyes for a minute so that she could hardly open them.

Almost as if in a dream she heard Mr. Vondergrift’s voice whispering to her to hurry, and she advanced toward the centre of the stage and tried to collect her scattered senses.

As the orchestra changed to the opening bars of the prelude to her song, Marion became more composed and was able to look about a little.

What kind of a place was she in? Her eyes were wide open now as she asked herself the question.

Men and women, scores of them, were seated all over the hall, and before them were small tables loaded with bottles and glasses, while men with white aprons moved swiftly between them, carrying trays which contained more glasses and bottles.

A whiff of villainous tobacco smoke floated to her nostrils, and just then the opening chord of her song was struck. Marion closed her eyes and commenced her song.

There was hardly a sound in the house while the young girl sang, and the silence helped her to concentrate her thoughts on the inspiration of her song, which was her sister Dollie.

It was a simple ballad, filled with pathos and love, and Marion’s exquisite voice thrilled even the most callous of her hearers.

As the last note died away, there was silence for a moment, then the audience rose to its feet and fairly yelled its “Bravos!”

“You must go back, they are encoring you,” cried Mr. Vondergrift, meeting her in the wings.

“Oh, I can’t! I can’t!” said Marion, almost crying.

“Can you sing ‘Comin’ Thro’ the Rye?’” asked Mr. Vondergrift, with a sudden inspiration.

“Why, certainly,” said Marion, a little surprised that he should ask her.

“Then go back and sing it!” said the man peremptorily.

Marion went back to the footlights and was greeted with a perfect storm of applause.

A signal from somewhere told the orchestra to be silent.

In another second Marion started the well-known ditty. The cheers that followed fairly shook the building.