"What a pleasure," cried Ashmead; and what a surprise! Ah, madam, I never
hoped to see you again. When I heard you had left the Munich Opera so
sudden, I said, 'There goes one more bright star quenched forever.' And
you to desert us--you, the risingest singer in Germany!"

"Mr. Ashmead!"

"You can't deny it. You know you were."

The lady, thus made her own judge, seemed to reflect a moment, and said,
"I was a well-grounded musician, thanks to my parents; I was a very
hard-working singer; and I had the advantage of being supported, in my
early career, by a gentleman of judgment and spirit, who was a manager at
first, and brought me forward, afterward a popular agent, and talked
managers into a good opinion of me."

"Ah, madam," said Ashmead, tenderly, "it is a great pleasure to hear this
from you, and spoken with that mellow voice which would charm a
rattlesnake; but what would my zeal and devotion have availed if you had
not been a born singer?"

"Why--yes," said Ina, thoughtfully; "I was a singer." But she seemed to
say this not as a thing to be proud of, but only because it happened to
be true; and, indeed, it was a peculiarity of this woman that she
appeared nearly always to think--if but for half a moment--before she
spoke, and to say things, whether about herself or others, only because
they were the truth. The reader who shall condescend to bear this in mind
will possess some little clew to the color and effect of her words as
spoken. Often, where they seem simple and commonplace--on paper, they
were weighty by their extraordinary air of truthfulness as well as by the