Nancy had stood in the upper hall, ready, when she heard her name called to enter. Here and there a tiny spangle caught the light, and the soft pink of her dress was repeated in her cheeks. She was happy. She was going to give pleasure.

As she heard her name called, she bounded down the stairway, across the hall, and up on the stage, looking far smaller than in her usual school dress. The pupils were spellbound.

Nancy had said nothing of her dancing nor had she spoken of having been a tiny performer at the theaters.

Now as they saw her whirling on the tips of her toes, dipping, swaying, doing steps of wondrous grace, they marveled at the skill with which she did it. At home, at the Stone House, Dorothy had often played for her, but to-night she seemed to out-do herself.

Nancy swung forward, then with cunning steps retreated, crossed her feet and did the pretty rocking-step, whirled again, and yet again, did the pirouette to left, then to right, made a very low courtesy, and ran off the stage, followed by tremendous clapping.

How they wished that she might have repeated the lovely dance!

Mrs. Marvin closely watched the nimble feet and determined to know something more about the charming little dancer. And now--Dorothy wondered _just what_ the next number would be. She took a long breath when, as Vera announced her, Patricia entered simply attired, wearing a pretty white dress, with a pale yellow sash, no other color.

It was remarkable to see Patricia without at least six colors.

"Perhaps she'll sing well," Dorothy said to herself, "for the lovely song that she chose for her number _couldn't_ be twisted into anything funny."

Was that really so, or was Dorothy trying to think so? Was there anything that Patricia could not "twist" if she chose?

The charming old song is very sweet when properly sung, and the words fit the melody.

"I dreampt that I dwelt in marble halls, With va.s.sals and serfs at my side, And of all who a.s.sembled within those walls, That I was the joy and the pride.

I had riches too great to count, could boast Of a high ancestral name, But I also dreampt, and that charmed me most, That you loved me just the same."

So runs the first verse, but Patricia had never seen the music. She had heard the song a number of times, and felt competent to sing it.

Dorothy had asked her to practice it, then had offered to loan her the music, but Patricia declared that she needed neither practice, nor the use of the music.

"Are you sure you know the words?" Nancy had asked.

"Of course!" Patricia had said sharply.

Nancy played the prelude, and Patricia sang. Sang with all her might, one might say, but oh, the words as she sang them!

She had caught them as they sounded, giving never a thought as to whether they made sense.

"I dre-eampt that I dwe-e-lt in mar-ar-ble halls With _vessels_ and _safes_ at my side.

And of all who had stumbled within those walls That I was the _joke_, and the _bride_, I had _witches_ to _mate_ and count, could boast Of a high and central name But I also dreampt, and that jarred me most, That Jew loved me just the same."

Was it strange that roars of laughter greeted the song? Even Mrs.

Marvin, a model of all that was well-bred, covered her eyes for a moment with her handkerchief, but when she removed it, the eyes were twinkling and it was evident that only her self-control kept her from laughing aloud.

Dorothy's first thought was for Patricia. She knew it must be dreadful to be laughed at, and she was hoping that Patricia might not be too badly hurt. She would draw her into the games later in the evening, and thus cheer her.

It happened that Patricia needed no cheering. She was disgusted, but not hurt. She believed herself to be a very fine singer, and thought that the only reason for laughter was that her audience was dull, so dull indeed that her romantic selection had been mistaken for a comic song.

"The idea of thinking that song funny enough to laugh at! Why it is not a comic song at all. There's nothing funny about it!" she declared. "It really doesn't pay to sing for folks here. They can't understand what you are doing! The next time I sing, I'll sing for my friends in N'York."

Dorothy was puzzled for a second, then, as she saw that Patricia really meant what she said, she was thankful that the laughter had not been understood by the silly little singer.

Patricia had actually thought that they were foolishly amused by the song.

It had been quite another thing that annoyed Patricia, and that was the evident pleasure that Nancy's dancing had given, and on the day after the social, she was vexed to have to hear the other girls talking about it.

"I'd think you never saw any one dance before," she said, when Betty Chase said that Nancy's dancing was "simply lovely."

"Well, I never did see a girl dance like that," said Betty.

"Well, she _ought_ to dance. She's had enough training, besides she used to dance on the stage. Who couldn't dance if they had a chance like that?"

"A whole lot of people couldn't," said Betty, sharply. "_I_ couldn't for one, and I guess there are a few others."

"Do you mean me?" Patricia asked, sharply, her eyes flashing.

"I mean any one silly enough to say that Nancy's dancing was anything but wonderful," Betty said, and she turned to Valerie, leaving Patricia to talk to herself, or to no one, if she chose.

Patricia had hoped to lessen interest in Nancy, but what she had said had had an opposite effect.

It had increased their already lively interest to such an extent that many who had not yet met her were wild to know her, and those who already were her friends were eager to question her as to her career.

They longed to hear all about her training, her first appearance at the theater, and countless questions they wanted to ask her. Patricia had made Nancy more popular than before.

CHAPTER VIII

A BIT OF SPITE

For several days Patricia was so busy thinking, that Arabella felt rather lonely. Arabella had been writing a letter to her Aunt Matilda, and endeavoring to answer all the questions that that peculiar woman had asked. It had occupied her spare time for two days, and was not yet ready to mail.

"O dear!" sighed Arabella, "I don't like to write letters."

"Don't write them," Patricia advised.

"Why, Patricia Levine! You know if I didn't answer Aunt Matilda's letter she'd pack her suit-case, and come right here!"

"Good gracious! Hurry up and finish it," cried Patricia. "I wouldn't want her coming here."

"I've got a cold, so I couldn't go out to mail it," drawled Arabella.

"Don't let that stop you," cried Patricia, "for I'll gladly go out to mail it for you, if it'll keep your Aunt Matilda away."

Later, when Patricia went down the hall on the way to post the letter, she saw that Dorothy's door was slightly ajar. Of course Patricia's sharp eyes saw it, and, because she never could resist the temptation to listen, where she might hear something not intended for her ears, she paused.

Nancy was speaking of the man that she had seen standing at the edge of the forest, on the day of the sleigh-ride. Again she told Dorothy how it had frightened her, adding:

"He looked just like Bonfanti, the ballet-teacher, and I believe if I should look from our window and see him out there, looking toward this house, I'd not dare to go out for days."