“Oh, yes, I have been informed by your honored president. I know of him for many years—that is, quite many.” She corrected herself, for one could see the woman was young, and very charming in her blonde, fair beauty. Jane then attempted to tell of the talent already secured, and being somewhat at a loss to guarantee, as yet, anything like a brilliant array, to support so noted an artist as Mme. Nalasky, she ventured to suggest that a young girl at college would play the violin, and Jane declared further, this young girl was quite a promising artist. In this Madam was at once interested. “I always like to hear of the young stars,” she said. “Sometimes a very little star comes out wonderfully when all the cobwebs in her sky have been cleared away.” Thus encouraged, Jane unfolded quite a story of Helen’s achievement. Then she remembered the _Bugle_. Therein had been expressed a view of Helen’s ability, better than Jane could hope to recount, so without a thought, other than that to benefit the concert, Jane drew from her bag the copy of the _Bugle_, with its bewildering arraignment of Helen’s power. The artist glanced at the little sheet with polite but indifferent interest. Jane felt, for a moment, she had made a mistake in offering so humble a testimonial. Then suddenly the prima donna sat erect. Her eyes showed intense interest. Her long, wonderfully tapering fingers seemed to clutch the much-abused little _Bugle_ with an intensity at once strange and foreign to the occasion. “Oh, my dear!” she exclaimed. “Tell me what is this? Who is this little artist?” and she glared at Jane as if trying to obtain in that fixed gaze some explanation of the lines she had just read. “Why!” faltered Jane. “She is a little freshman—who is at Wellington. She is a very great friend of mine.” “But tell me about her!” begged the woman, actually seizing Jane’s hands. “What does she look like? What is her real name? Do you know? Please tell me quickly.” Jane now saw the prima donna was laboring under some great strain and excitement. So apparent was her agitation the secretary, who had remained at a respectful distance during the interview, hastened to the side of her mistress. “Oh, pray, what is it, Madam?” she asked in alarm. “Why such excitement?” “But, Marie, you cannot know!” gasped the artist. “This is more to me than life itself. Oh, what if it should be——” she hesitated. “Little lady!” she again directly addressed Jane. “Can you tell me just what the Polish girl looks like? Has she pretty eyes and pretty hair? And is she a sweet child? Oh, how shall I ever wait to know!”