Changes
Dick Ashton's laughing wish that his sister Betty were a little less
pretty was not so unreasonable as you might suppose, had you seen her on
this particular late June afternoon as she ran down the narrow, ugly
hall of the German pension to greet her brother and sister.
She had on a pale blue muslin dress open at the throat with a tiny frill
of lace. Her red bronze hair had coppery tones in it as well as pure
gold and was parted a little on one side and coiled up in the simplest
fashion at the back of her head. The darkness of her lashes and the
delicate lines of her brows gave the gray of her eyes a peculiar luster
like the shine on old silk. And this afternoon her cheeks were the deep
rose color that often accompanies this especial coloring.
She put one arm around Esther, drawing her into their sitting room,
while Dick followed them. It was an odd room, a curious mixture of
German and American taste and yet not unattractive. The ceiling was
high, the furniture heavy and dark, and the walls covered with a
flowered yellow paper. But the two girls had removed the paintings of
unnatural flowers and fruits that once decorated them, and instead had
hung up framed photographs of the famous pictures that had most pleased
them in their visits to different art galleries. There was Franz Hals'
"Smiling Cavalier" gazing down at them with irresistible camaraderie in
his eyes which followed you with their smile no matter in what portion
of the room you chanced to be. On an opposite wall hung a Rembrandt
painting of an old woman, and further along the magical "Mona Lisa." In
all the history of art there is no more fascinating story than that
relating to this great picture by Leonardo da Vinci. For the woman who
was the original of the picture was a great Italian princess whom many
people adored because of her strange beauty. She had scores of lovers
of noble blood and lowly, but no one is supposed to have understood the
secret of her inscrutable smile, not even the artist who painted it.
This picture was first the property of Italy and then carried away to
hang for many years in the most celebrated room in the great gallery of
the Louvre in Paris. From there it was stolen by an Italian workman,
taken back into Italy and later restored to the French Government. But
before Mona Lisa's return to her niche in the Louvre she made a kind of
triumphal progress through the great cities of her former home, Rome,
Florence and Venice. And in each place men, women and little children
came flocking in thousands to pay their tribute to beauty. And so for
those of us who think of beauty as a passing, an ephemeral thing, there
is this lesson of its universal, its eternal quality. For the smile of
one woman, dead these hundreds of years, yet fixed by genius on a square
of canvas, can still stir the pulses of the world.
Betty happened to be standing under this picture as she helped Esther
remove her coat and hat. And though there was nothing mysterious in her
youthful, American prettiness, there is always a poignant and appealing
quality in all beauty. Esther suddenly leaned over and placing her hands
on both her sister's cheeks, kissed her.
"What have you been doing alone all day?" she asked. "Was your mother
well enough to go out with you?"
Betty shook her head without replying and, though Esther saw nothing,
Dick Ashton had an idea that his sister was merely waiting for a more
propitious time for the account of her own day. For she asked
immediately after: "What difference in the world does it make, Esther
Crippen, what I have been doing? The thing I wish to know this instant
is whether Professor Hecksher has asked you to sing at his big concert
with his really star singers? And if he has asked you what did you
answer?"
"So that was what was worrying you, Esther?" Dick said and walked over
to the high window, pretending to look out.
For Esther was beginning to grow as pale and wretched as she had been
an hour before and was once more twisting her hands together like an
awkward child.
Betty caught her sister's hands, holding them close. "Tell me the
truth," she insisted.
First the older girl nodded, as though not trusting herself to speak and
then said: "Yes, Professor Hecksher _has_ asked me. He wants me to make
my musical _debut_ even though I go on studying afterwards. But I can't
do it, Betty dear. I wish you and the Professor would both understand. I
appreciate his thinking I can sing well enough, but it is not true. I
should break down; my voice would fail utterly. Oh, I am sorry I ever
came abroad to study. I have been realizing for months and months that
my voice is not worth the trouble and expense father and the rest of you
have taken. I am simply going to be a disappointment to all of you."
"Esther, you are a great big goose!" Betty exclaimed indignantly. "I
thought we ended this discussion last night and you decided to let
Professor Hecksher judge whether or not you could sing. One would think
he might know, as he is the biggest singing teacher in Berlin. And
certainly if you don't sing I shall die of disappointment. And I _shall_
believe that you are ungrateful to father and to--to all of us."
She was obliged to break off, for Esther had left the room.
Then Dick swung around, facing his sister. "Look here, Betty," he began
more angrily than she had often heard him speak. "Has it ever occurred
to you that you may all be forcing Esther into a life for which she is
not fitted, which will never make her happy? Of course there is no
denying her talent; her voice is wonderful and grows more so each day.
But she is intensely shy. She hates notoriety and strange
people--everything that a musical life must mean. I don't think that you
ought to insist upon her singing at this special concert if she does not
wish it. You do not understand her."
Utter amazement during her brother's long speech kept Betty silent. For
it was too absurd that any one should seriously suggest Esther's
turning her back on the big opportunity for which she had been working
for the past two years. Why, for what other purpose had they come to
Germany? And for Esther to be invited to sing at Professor Hecksher's
annual autumn concert was to have the seal of his approval set upon her
ability. For of course the great man selected from his pupils only those
whose appearance in public would reflect credit upon him. And often an
appearance at one of these much-talked-of recitals meant the beginning
of a musical reputation in the outside world. So Betty stared at her
brother curiously, at loss to appreciate his point of view. She felt
offended, too, at the tone he had just taken with her.
"So you think you understand Esther better than I do, Dick?" she
answered slowly. "I suppose you and Esther must have talked this matter
over on your way home. Certainly it is Esther's own choice and I shall
say nothing more about it. And I'll ask mother not to mention the
subject either." Betty picked up a small piece of embroidery lying on a
table near by and began sewing industriously, keeping her face bent over
it so as to hide her flushed cheeks and the light in her eyes. For Betty
had not forgotten her Camp Fire training in self-control. Besides, she
did not like quarreling with her brother. Dick was ordinarily so
reasonable, she felt even more mystified than hurt by his behavior. It
was so unlike him to argue that one should turn back from a long-sought
goal just because there were difficulties to be overcome. Had he not
fought through every kind of obstacle for the sake of his profession?
The silence in the room was interrupted only by the ticking of a Swiss
clock, until finally a deep gong sounded from below stairs. It might
easily have given the impression that the house was on fire, but as
neither Dick nor Betty appeared surprised, it was plainly a summons to
the early dinner, which is so important a feature of German pension
life.
Folding up her work Betty moved quietly toward the door. But she had
only gone a few steps when she heard Dick coming after her. Then in
spite of trying her best to hurry from the room, he caught up with her,
putting his arms about her.
"Tell me you are sorry, Princess, or you shan't have any dinner," he
demanded. For it had been a fashion of theirs years before when they
were children to have the offender pretend to demand an apology from the
offended. But Betty did not feel in the mood for jesting at present and
so shook her head.
Then Dick met her gaze with an expression so unusual that Betty
instantly felt her resentment fading.
"Perhaps I was wrong in what I said just then, little sister, I don't
feel sure," he apologized. "But at least I realize that you wish Esther
to gain fame and fortune for her own sake and not for yours. I was only
wondering which makes a woman happier in the end, a home or a career?
Now please relate me your day's experience, which you have been keeping
such a profound secret, so that I may know I am forgiven."
"It is too late now," Betty returned, slipping away from his grasp. "I
must find out whether mother is coming down to dinner. Perhaps I may
tell you afterwards."