As he stood thus, irresolute, the woman by
his side eying him furtively from time to time, Melody turned her face
toward him and spoke.
"If you will take me home," she said, "I will sing to you. I will sing
all day, if you like. But here I will never sing. It would not be
possible for you to make me do it, so why do you try? You made a
mistake, that is all."
"Oh, that's all, is it?" repeated Anderson.
"Yes, truly," the child went on. "Perhaps you do not mean to be
unkind,--Mrs. Brown says you do not; but then why _are_ you unkind,
and why will you not take me home?"
"It is for your own good, child," repeated Anderson, doggedly. "You
know that well enough. I have told you how it will all be, a hundred
times. You were not meant for a little village, and a few dull old
people; you are for the world, the great world of wealth and fashion
and power. If you were not either a fool or--or--I don't know what,
you would see the matter as it really is. Mrs. Brown is right: most
girls would give their eyes, and their ears too, for such a chance as
you have. You are only a child, and a very foolish child; and you
don't know what is good for you. Some day you will be thankful to me
for making you sing.
Pages:
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109