ouched and almost remorseful, Miss Pritchard kissed her fondly. But
she couldn't restrain a sigh.

"Surely it doesn't mean--going on the stage?" she inquired.

"Oh, no indeed, Cousin Julia, at least not right off. Only--well, just
being ready if anything should happen, you know."

Then suddenly at the thought of that wonderful eventuality, the girl's
dimples came out and her eyes so shone that Miss Pritchard felt as if
she should burst into tears. It seemed as if she couldn't bear it!
Again she lamented inwardly. Why should the child have had that crazy
desire for the stage? Why shouldn't it have been a passion for
music--for opera, indeed? Nearly every one who had heard Elsie sing on
Christmas Eve had spoken to Miss Pritchard of the girl's wonderful
voice, and the question of her cultivating that instead of working for
the stage; and Miss Pritchard had yesterday decided to make a fresh
plea to Elsie to that effect. What joy would it not be to share the
child's enthusiasm, had it been a matter of music!

However, it would be worse than futile to drag in any such thing at
this moment, she saw clearly. Carried away by her delight, Elsie would
have no ears and no heart for anything else. Miss Pritchard told
herself she must wait for the infatuation to cool--and when that might
be, she couldn't in the least foresee. Would it ever happen in truth?

As she couldn't possibly force herself to rejoice with Elsie, and
couldn't bear not to share in her joy, as they had come to share
everything, she suddenly proposed attending a concert that evening to
be given by a visiting orchestra from the Middle West. Elsie entered
into the plan with spirit, and they went off gayly together. Miss
Pritchard knew that Elsie was dreaming dreams to the strains of Bach
and Schumann, and wished with all her heart they were another sort of
vision; still, it was a happy evening for both where it had threatened
to be uncomfortable. But on the night when Elsie Moss had expected to
lie awake in agony because of the imminence of her parting with all she
loved most, she had only a brief moment of compunction, which she
dismissed easily, falling asleep in the midst of radiant and enchanting
visions of life on the stage. It was Miss Pritchard whose rest was
troubled.

CHAPTER XXVII

The answer of the real Elsie Marley to the letter in which her friend
enthusiastically related her advance toward the stage might have
indicated how f