e gallery of a concert hall in an English
manufacturing town. She could not hear very well there, but it was the
cheapest place she could obtain, and economy was of some importance to
her. Besides, by craning her neck a little to avoid the hat of the
rather strikingly dressed young woman in front of her, she could, at
least, see the stage. The programme which she held in one hand
announced that Miss Agatha Ismay would sing a certain aria from a great
composer's oratorio, and she leaned further forward in her chair when a
girl of about her own age, which was twenty-four, slowly advanced to
the centre of the stage.

She was a tall, well-made, brown-haired girl, with a quiet grace of
movement and a comely face, attired in a long trailing dress of a
shimmering corn-straw tint, but when she stood looking at the audience
Miss Rawlinson noticed a hint of tension in her expression. Agatha
Ismay had sung at unimportant concerts with marked success, but that
evening there was something very like shrinking in her eyes.

Then a crash of chords from the piano melted into a rippling prelude,
and Winifred breathed easier when her friend began to sing. Her voice
was sweet and excellently trained, and there was a deep stillness of
appreciation when the clear notes thrilled through the close-packed
hall. No one could doubt that the first part of the aria was a
success, for half-subdued applause broke out when the voice sank into
silence, and for a few moments the piano rippled on alone; but it
seemed to Winifred that the look of tension was still in the singer's
face, and once more she grew uneasy, for she understood the cause for
it.

"The last bit of the second part's rather trying," said a young man
behind her. "There's an awkward jump of two full tones that was too
much for our soprano when we tried it at the choral union. Miss
Ismay's very true in intonation, but I don't suppose most of the rest
would notice it if she shirked a little and left that high sharp out."

Winifred had little knowledge of music, but she was sufficiently
acquainted with her friend's character to be certain that Agatha would
not attempt to leave the sharp in question out. This was one reason
why she sat rigidly still when the clear voice rang out again. It rose
from note to note, full and even, but she could see the singer's face,
and there was no doubt whatever that she was making a strenuous effort.
Nobody else, however, seemed to notice it,