my living."

"What were you doing?"

Marna looked at the tip of her slipper for a moment, reflectively. Then
she glanced up at Kate, throwing a supplicating glance from the blue
eyes which looked as if they were snared behind their long dark lashes.

"I wouldn't be telling everybody that asked me," she said. "But I was
singing at the moving-picture show, and Mrs. Barsaloux came in there and
heard me. Then she asked me to live with her and go to Europe, and I
did, and she paid for the best music lessons for me everywhere,
and now--"

She hesitated, drawing in a long breath; then she arose and stood before
Kate, breathing deep, and looking like a shining butterfly free of its
chrysalis and ready to spread its emblazoned wings.

"Yes, bright one!" cried Kate, glowing with admiration. "What now?"

"Why, now, you know, I'm to go in opera. The manager of the Chicago
Opera Company has been Mrs. Barsaloux's friend these many years, and she
has had him try out my voice. And he likes it. He says he doesn't care
if I haven't had the usual amount of training, because I'm really born
to sing, you see. Perhaps that's my inheritance from the old
minstrels--for they chanted their ballads and epics, didn't they?
Anyway, I really can sing. And I'm to make my debut this winter in
'Madame Butterfly.' Just think of that! Oh, I love Puccini! I can
understand a musician like that--a man who makes music move like
thoughts, flurrying this way and blowing that. It's to be very soon--my