"How did you know about it?"
"We have followed you in the papers. Bobby had some, and I think Sidney
must have bought tons of them. He even talked of subscribing to a
clipping bureau. He has read them aloud to us, every night; and we all
have tried to act as if it were nothing so very unusual to have one of
our friends winning laurels by the wholesale."
"They were very concrete laurels, too, Miss Dane," he returned
indifferently, though his face had lighted at her eager accent. "Some of
the wreaths must have been four feet across, and I invariably tripped
over the ribbons, when I carried them off the stage. I did wish they
would furnish a dray; garlands are horribly in the way in a carriage."
"And then what became of them?"
Thayer shrugged his shoulders.
"Ask the chambermaids along the route. I don't mean to be
unappreciative; but not even the most trusting of publics could expect
me to bear my trophies away in my arms, next morning. I came to wish I
could ship them back to the florist, to be presented to some other
baritone, the next night."
"But you enjoyed the trip?"
"After a fashion. I enjoyed the summer more, though."
"There is a certain satisfaction in dropping off the social harness now
and then, and we were comparatively primitive at Monomoy," she
assented. "The whole summer would have been worth while, just for the
sake of seeing Mr. Arlt enjoy it. Has he come back yet?"
"Yes, two days ago. The trip has meant a good deal to him, and already
he is engaged for two festivals in the spring. I am hoping that a taste
of success will give him more self-reliance. He needs it, if ever he is
to impose himself upon the dear public. Even the critics are prone to
take a man at his own valuation, and one of the best American musicians
is working in a corner, to-day, because he finds it a good deal more
interesting to work towards future successes than to exploit his past
ones in the eyes of the world."
Beatrix smiled, half in assent, half in amusement at his sudden energy.
"Mr. Arlt will succeed in time; he is only a boy yet. But, with genius
and energy and his real love for his art, there can be no doubt of his
future."
"That is as fate may decree," Thayer answered.
"Or Providence," she corrected him.
He shook his head.
"Miss Dane, the more I know of life, I am learning to write fate in
capitals, and to spell Providence with a little _p_. Things are pretty
well cut out for us."
She glanced at him with sudden intentness.
"Then I hope the scissors are sharp, and that Moira carries a steady
hand. We have to put up with our own indecisions; those of other people
are maddening."
"Doesn't that depend upon what the decision finally proves to be?" he
asked.
Her eyes had gone back to the fire, and her face was very grave.
"No; I would rather know where I am going. Anything is better than
drifting; it is a comfort to look steadily forward to the best or to the
worst." Suddenly she roused herself. "Mr. Thayer, do you realize that it
is two months since I have heard you sing?"
He roused himself quite as suddenly. In the slight pause which had
broken her speech, he had been making a swift, but futile effort to
chart the future. He knew that Lorimer was drifting carelessly,
thoughtlessly; he also knew that Beatrix was allowing herself to drift
idly in his wake. And how about himself? And would they all make the
same port in the end? If not, where would the diverging currents be
waiting for them?
His brain was working intently; but his voice was quite conventional, as
he rose.
"I hoped you would ask me. After a month or two of singing to strangers,
I begin to feel the need of something a little more personal. Will you
have the new songs, or the old?"
"The old, of course," she answered unhesitatingly.