My
heart sank and my voice dwindled to a quavering, unfamiliar whisper. I
couldn't remember the words; but then I seized hold of my courage and sang
and sang and sang, better than I had ever done before.
I didn't look up again until I had finished; then somehow I got away from
the piano, and shyly slipped into a chair near Miss Baker. Of course there
was a clamour that I should sing again, but I couldn't. The flaming of my
cheeks made me ashamed.
Perhaps some time I shall learn the city way of not seeming to care very
much about anything.
Aunt must have had it at her tongue's end all the evening to invite me to
come to her; and when she was bidding me good-night she could wait no
longer.
"You're living right on Union Square?" she said; "in the same building
with--with--"
"A milliner, a dentist, a school for theatrical dancing," I enumerated,
laughing happily. I knew that it was I myself, and not my mode of life,
that bewildered her.
"But--is it--_nice_?"
"Better than a boarding-house. Two or three other girls lodge there, the
housekeeper is obliging, and the experience--well, at least it's
enlightening.
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