Sister Teresa | Page 4

refusing unless--A knock! Her manager! and he had come to tell her they had taken more money that night than on any previous night. "Perhaps Lady Ascott may have some more friends in Glasgow and will write to them," he added as he bade her good-night.
"Three hundred pounds! Only a few of the star singers would have gathered as much money into a hall," and to the dull sound of gold pieces she fell asleep. But the sound of gold is the sweetest tribute to the actress's vanity, and this tribute Evelyn had missed to some extent in the preceding concerts; the others were artistic successes, but money had not flowed in, and a half-empty concert-room puts an emptiness into the heart of the concert singer that nothing else can. But the Edinburgh concert had been different; people had been more appreciative, her singing had excited more enthusiasm. Lady Ascott had brought musical people to hear her, and Evelyn awoke, thinking that she would not miss seeing Lady Ascott for anything; and while looking forward to seeing her at Thornton Grange, she thought of the money she had made for the poor nuns, and then of the money awaiting her in Glasgow.... It would be nice if by any chance Lady Ascott were persuaded to come to Glasgow for the concert, bringing her party with her. Anything was possible with Lady Ascott; she would go anywhere to hear music.
"But what an evening!" and she watched the wet country. A high wind had been blowing all day, but the storm had begun in the dusk, and when she arrived at the station the coachman could hardly get his horses to face the wind and rain. In answer to her question the footman told her Thornton Grange was about a mile from the station; and when the carriage turned into the park she peered through the wet panes, trying to see the trees which Owen had often said were the finest in Scotland; but she could only distinguish blurred masses, and the yellow panes of a parapeted house.
"How are you, my dear Evelyn? I'm glad to see you. You'll find some friends here." And Lady Ascott led her through shadowy drawing-rooms curtained with red silk hangings, filled with rich pictures, china vases, books, marble consol tables on which stood lamps and tall candles. Owen came forward to meet her.
"I am so glad to meet you, Miss Innes! You didn't expect to see me? I hope you're not sorry."
"No, Sir Owen, I'm not sorry; but this is a surprise, for Lady Ascott didn't tell me. Were you at the concert?"
"No, I couldn't go; I was too ill. It was a privation to remain at home thinking--What did you sing?"
Evelyn looked at him shrewdly, believing only a little in his illness, and nearly convinced he had not gone to the concert because he wished to keep his presence a secret from her... fearing she would not come to Thornton Grange if she knew he were there.
"He missed a great deal; I told him so when I returned," said Lady Ascott.
"But what can one do, Miss Innes, when one is ill? The best music in the world--even your voice when one is ill--. Tell me what you sang."
"Evelyn is going to sing at Glasgow; you will be able to go there with her."
The servant announced another guest and Lady Ascott went forward to meet him. Guest after guest, and all were greeted with little cries of fictitious intimacy; and each in turn related his or her journey, and the narratives were chequered with the names of other friends who had been staying in the houses they had just come from. Evelyn listened, thinking of her poor people, contrasting their simplicities with the artificialities of the gang--that is how she put it to herself--which ran about from one house to another, visiting, calling itself Society, talking always, changing the conversation rapidly, never interested in any subject sufficiently to endure it for more than a minute and a half. The life of these people seemed to Evelyn artificial as that of white mice, coming in by certain doors, going out by others, climbing poles, engaged in all kinds of little tricks; yet she was delighted to find herself among them all again, for her life had been dull and tedious since she left the convent; and this sudden change, taking her back to art and to her old friends, was very welcome; and the babble of all these people about her inveigled her out of her new self; and she liked to hear about so many people, their adventures, their ideas, misfortunes, precocious caprices.
The company had broken up into groups, and one little group, of which Evelyn was part, had withdrawn into a corner to discuss its