And when Owen returned he found Evelyn in tears.  But with his scrupulous tact he avoided any allusion to her grief, and while she bathed her eyes she thanked him in her heart for this.  Her father would have fretted and fussed and maddened her with questions, but Owen cheered her with sanguine smiles and seemed to look forward to her success as a natural sequence, any interruption to which it would be idle to anticipate; and he cleverly drew her thoughts from doubt in her own ability into consideration of the music she was going to sing.  She suggested the jewel song in “Faust,” or the waltz in “Romeo and Juliet.”  But he was of the opinion that she had better sing the music she was in the habit of singing; for choice, one of Purcell’s songs, the “Epithalamium,” or the song from the “Indian Queen.”

“Savelli doesn’t know the music; it will interest her.  The other things she hears every day of her life.”

“But I haven’t the music—­I don’t know the accompaniments.”

“The music is here.”

“It is very thoughtful of you.”

“Henceforth it must be my business to be thoughtful.”

They descended the hotel staircase very slowly, seeing themselves in the tall mirrors on the landings.  The bright courtyard glittered through the glass verandah; it was full of carriages.  Owen signed to his coachman.  They got into the victoria, and a moment after were passing through the streets, turning in and out.  But not a word did they speak, for the poison of doubt had entered into his, as it had into her, soul.  He had begun to ask himself if he was mistaken—­if she had really this wonderful voice, or if it only existed in his imagination?  True it was that everyone who had heard her sing thought the same; but the last time he had heard her, had not her voice sounded a little thin?  He had doubts, too, about her power of passionate interpretation....  She had a beautiful voice—­there could be no doubt on that point—­but a beautiful voice might be heard to a very great disadvantage on the stage.  Moreover, could she sing florid music?  Of course, the “Epithalamium” she was going to sing was as florid as it could be.  Purcell had suited it to his own singing....  A woman did not always sing to an orchestra as well as to a single instrument.  That was only when the singer was an insufficient musician.  Evelyn was an excellent musician....  If a woman had the loveliest voice, and was as great a musician as Wagner himself, it would profit her nothing if she had not the strength to stand the wear and tear of rehearsals.  He looked at Evelyn, and calculated her physical strength.  She was a rather tall and strongly-built girl, but the Wagnerian bosom was wanting.  He had always considered a large bosom to be a dreadful deformity.  A bosom should be an indication, a hint; a positive statement he viewed with abhorrence.  And he paused to think if he would be willing to forego his natural and cultured taste in female beauty and accept those