"Oh, that is so sweet of you! Thank you a thousand times! If Mr. Simpson will kindly oblige us once more----? Now, you see, it is just here, on that G in alt, where the voice rises on the words, 'Grant, oh, grant me my petition!' The sound 'grant,' according to my original conception, should be given with a sort of wail--not, of course, an unmusical sound, but just with a tinge of sadness expressive of the then miserable and depressed condition of the Jewish nation, and at the same time with a tone--an _underlying_ tone, as it were--conveying the latent hope (which really was in Queen Esther's mind all along, you know) that by her efforts brighter days might yet be in store for them. You feel what I mean?" "I will try my best," answered Clara gently. And then she sang the air again--precisely as she had sung it before. "_Now_," cried Miss Piper, jumping up and clapping her hands in an ecstasy of triumph, "it is _perfect_--absolutely perfect!" She poured out unstinted thanks and compliments to both singer and accompanist, observing to the latter that this recalled the great days of the public performance of "Esther," and that she considered Miss Bertram's rendering of "Hear, O King," far superior to that of the well-known vocalist who had sung it originally. "But then, you see, _she_ could not, or would not, take a hint. Consequently--although, of course, she sang the notes perfectly--she never fully mastered my conception. Now a word has been enough to show Miss Bertram the inner meaning of my music; and she interprets it in the most _exquisite_ manner." Before going away May contrived to have a few words with Clara Bertram in her room. "It is such a pleasure to hear you sing again," said May. "How I wish Granny could hear you!" "Will not your grandmother be here to-morrow evening?" "Oh no," answered May, colouring. "She does not go out to parties. Granny does not belong to the class of the ladies and gentlemen who come here. Her husband was a tradesman in this town. But she is the finest creature in the world. And she has more real dignity than any one I know." "Your grandmother lives here? But then--how is it--your mother is not a foreigner?" "A foreigner? Good gracious! No. My mother was Miss Susan Dobbs. She died years ago, when I was a little child. Why do you ask?" "Oh, nothing. I fancied--Valli said something about having known Madame Cheffington abroad." "That was possible. My parents lived abroad for years. My father is on the Continent now. I and the two little brothers before me were born in Belgium." "Oh! I suppose that must be it," said Clara slowly. "Valli talks at random sometimes." "Signor Valli talks very much at random if he ever said my mother was a foreigner. By the way, do you know he is to be here to-morrow evening?" "Yes; so I hear." "You do not hear it with rapture, apparently." "No; I do not like him very much." "He likes _you_ very much, if appearances may be trusted," said May laughingly.