'You never sang better in your life than you did last night, mother,'

he observed.

The prima donna's face glowed with pleasure, and as she turned her big

eyes to his Margaret saw in them a look of such loving tenderness as

she had rarely seen in her life.

'I saw you, my dear,' said Madame Bonanni to her son. 'You were in the

second row of the stalls. I sang for you last night, for I thought you

looked sad and lonely.' Lushington laid his hand on hers for a moment.

'Thank you,' he said simply.

There was a short silence, which was unusual when the prima donna was

present. Margaret had recovered from her first surprise, and had

understood that Madame Bonanni adored her son and that he felt real

affection for her, though he suffered a good deal from the manner in

which hers showed itself. If Lushington had fancied that he might fall

in Margaret's estimation through her discovery of his birth, he was

much mistaken. His patience and perfect simplicity did more to make her

love him than anything he had done before. She had learned his secret,

or a great part of it, and she understood him now, and the reason why

he had changed his name, and she felt that he had behaved very well to

her in going away, though she wished that he had boldly taken her into

his confidence before leaving Mrs. Rushmore's. But she did not know

all, though she was neither too young nor too innocent to guess a part

of the truth. Few young women of twenty-two years are. Madame Bonanni's

career as an artist had been a long series of triumphs, but her past as

a woman had been variegated, of the sort for which the French have

invented a number of picturesquely descriptive expressions, such as

'leading the life of Punch,' 'throwing one's cap over the windmills,'

and other much less elegant phrases. Margaret saw that Lushington was

not ashamed of his mother, as his mother; but she knew instinctively

that his mother's past was a shame which he felt always and to the

quick.

Madame Bonanni ate a good deal before she spoke again, feeling,

perhaps, that she had lost time.

'Schreiermeyer says she sings divinely,' she said at last, looking at

Lushington and then nodding at Margaret. 'You know what that means.' 'London?' inquired Lushington, who knew the manager.

'London next year, and an appearance this season if any one breaks

down. Meanwhile he signs for her début in Belgium and a three months'

tour. Twenty-four performances in three operas, fifty thousand francs.' 'I congratulate you,' said Lushington, looking at Margaret and trying

to seem pleased.




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