"Why, you talk as if there had _been_ a fire," I cried, kissing her.
Millions of fires have flamed and roared and sunk and died again; but
never before has there been a Me!
The dear fussy little woman said that John had been telephoning inquiries.
I could see that she wished to keep me in my room, and finally, at some
laboured excuse for withholding the morning papers, I understood that she
and John were hiding something; she is so transparent!
"You must be calm, Nelly, dear; you mustn't excite yourself," she chirped
anxiously.
"Unless I see the papers, I shall have a fever, a high fever," I
threatened; "I must--oh, I must see every word about last evening!"
At last the _Record_ and the _Messenger_ came upstairs already
opened to the critiques of the new opera. Mrs. Baker wished to read aloud,
but I almost snatched the papers from her; my eyes couldn't go fast enough
down the columns. But in neither sheet did I find more than a reference to
a "senseless alarm" that marred the rendition of "Christofero."
My cheeks flamed with annoyance. It was the reporters who were senseless;
they had seen men adoring the wonder of this century, and had not flashed
news of it--of me--to all the world!
Aunt couldn't understand.
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