"Come Nan," he answered; "you're too beautiful, too rich, too powerful, and too much envied to be afraid of the opinion of small folks. It's the privilege of the great to do as they please. Only the little people must do as others. As a special favour I ask you to be there at the rise of the curtain. I must see my little friend's entrance and hear the first note she sings." She had yielded gracefully on the outside. Inwardly she was boiling with rage. They were the first to enter a box. Stuart eagerly scanned his programme. The manager had inserted a slip of paper on which he said: "Owing to the sudden illness of the prima donna, the audience will have the unexpected privilege this evening of hearing an accomplished American girl, a native of New York City, sing for the first time in Grand Opera. Miss Harriet Woodman will appear in the role of Marguerite." The real audience had gathered unusually early to hear the great European prima donna. Every seat in the orchestra and balconies was packed before the rise of the curtain. Nan had placed Stuart in front of her on purpose to watch closely his expression. As the moment for Harriet's appearance drew near, his nervous tension became a positive agony. Yet he distinctly felt from the subtle impression, which the intelligent single mind can always receive from the collective mind of a crowd, that the people were in a friendly mood of expectancy. The fact that she was an American girl and from New York was greatly in her favour. The audience greeted her appearance with a burst of applause and waited for the first note of her opening song. Stuart was charmed with the effect of her personality in the character, before she moved. The long, beautiful golden hair, the innocent young face and her simple girlish costume made an instantaneous impression in her favour. With the first sweet note from her throat every fear vanished. She sang simply, quietly, exquisitely, without effort, as a bird sings because the song bubbles from within. A ripple of surprised comment swept the audience and burst into vigorous applause at the close of her song. She looked into Stuart's face and smiled sweetly. "Isn't she glorious!" he cried, turning his flushed face toward Nan. "Fine," was the quiet answer, "but please, Jim, don't climb over the rail and try to get on the stage." Stuart settled back in his seat with a resolution to be more careful. But in a few moments his resolution was forgotten. From start to finish Harriet received a continuous ovation. In the great songs of the last act her voice swelled into a climax of thrilling spiritual power. The audience rose in their seats and greeted her with such a tribute of enthusiasm New York had rarely seen. Wave after wave of applause swept the house. Her fellow-singers were compelled to lead her out a half-dozen times before the tumult ceased. The manager, in ecstasies, fell on his knees, and kisses the tips of her fingers.