rtiere and disappeared.]

Miss Honey laughed carelessly. "My mother is a singer," she said, "a
real one. She used to sing in concerts--real ones. In theatres.
Real theatres, I mean," as the lady appeared to be still amused.

"If you know where the Waldorf Hotel is," Caroline interrupted, "she
has sung in that, and it was five dollars to get in. It was to send
the poor children to a Fresh Air Fund. It--it's not the same as you
would sing--or me," she added politely.

The lady arose suddenly and deposited the General, like a doll, with
one swift motion in the basket chair. Striding across the room she
turned, flushed and tall, and confronted the wondering children.

"I will sing for you," she said haughtily, "and you can judge
better!"

With a great sweep of her half bare arm, she brushed aside a
portiere and disappeared. A crashing chord rolled out from a piano
behind the curtains and ceased abruptly.

"What does your mother sing?" she demanded, not raising her voice,
it seemed, and yet they heard her as plainly as when they had leaned
against her knee.

"She sings, 'My Heart's Own Heart,'" Miss Honey called back
defiantly.

"And it's printed on the song, 'To Madame Edith Holt!'" shrilled
Caroline.

The familiar prelude was played with a firm, elastic touch, the
opening chords struck, and a great shining voice, masterful, like a
golden trumpet, filled the room. Caroline sat dumb; Miss Honey,
instinctively humming the prelude, got up from her foot-stool and
followed the music, unconscious that she walked. She had been
privileged to hear more good singing in her eight years than most
people have in twenty-four, had Miss Honey, and she knew that this
was no ordinary occasion. She did not know she was listening to one
of the greatest voices her country had ever produced--perhaps in
time to be known for the head of them all--but the sensitive little
soul swelled in her and her childish jealousy was drowned deep in
that river of wonderful sound.

Higher and sweeter and higher yet climbed the melody; one last
triumphant leap, and it was over.

"_My heart--my heart--my heart's own heart!_"

The Princess stood before them in the echoes of her glory, her
breath quick, her eyes brilliant.

"Well?" she said, looking straight at Miss Honey, "do I sing as well
as your mother?"

Miss Honey clenched her fists and caught her breath. Her heart was
breaking, but she could not lie.

"You--you--" she motioned blindly to