The minister's wife had nothing but praise for Sylvia--she was
so sweet and beautiful and winning.
"And with SUCH a voice," said the minister's wife enthusiastically,
adding with a sigh, "It's such a shame she can't have it
properly trained. She would certainly become a great singer--
competent critics have told her so. But she is so poor she
doesn't think she can ever possibly manage it--unless she
can get one of the Cameron scholarships, as they are called;
and she has very little hope of that, although the professor
of music who taught her has sent her name in."
"What are the Cameron scholarships?" asked the Old Lady.
"Well, I suppose you have heard of Andrew Cameron, the millionaire?"
said the minister's wife, serenely unconscious that she was
causing the very bones of the Old Lady's family skeleton to jangle
in their closet.
Into the Old Lady's white face came a sudden faint stain of colour,
as if a rough hand had struck her cheek.
"Yes, I've heard of him," she said.
"Well, it seems that he had a daughter, who was a very
beautiful girl, and whom he idolized. She had a fine voice,
and he was going to send her abroad to have it trained.
And she died. It nearly broke his heart, I understand.
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