“I would receive my lessons late Saturday afternoons, stay overnight with a friend of mine, and return to Port Agnew on Sunday. He used to board the train at—­well, the name of the station doesn’t matter—­every Saturday, and one day we got acquainted, quite by accident as it were.  Our train ran through an open switch and collided with the rear end of a freight; there was considerable excitement, and everybody spoke to everybody else, and after that it didn’t appear that we were strangers.  The next Saturday, when he boarded the train, he sat down in the same seat with me and asked permission to introduce himself.  He was very nice, and his manners were beautiful; he didn’t act in the least like a man who desired to ‘make a mash.’  Finally, one day, he asked me to have dinner with him in Seattle, and I accepted.  I think that was because I’d never been in a fashionable restaurant in all my life.  After dinner, he escorted me to the studio, and on Sunday morning we took the same train home again.  He was such good company and such a jolly, worldly fellow—­so thoughtful and deferential!  Can’t you realize, Donald, how he must have appealed to a little country goose like me?

“Well, finally, daddy Brent learned that Signor Moretti, a tenor who had retired from grand opera, had opened a studio in San Francisco.  We both wanted Moretti to pass on my voice, but we couldn’t afford the expense of a journey to San Francisco for two, so daddy sent me alone.  I wrote—­that man about our plans, and told him the name of the steamer I was sailing on.  Your father gave me a passage on one of his steam-schooners, and when we got to the dock in San Francisco—­”

“He was there, eh?  Came down by train and beat the steamer in.”  Donald nodded his comprehension.  “What did Moretti say about your voice?”

“The usual thing.  My Seattle teacher had almost ruined my voice, he declared, but, for all that, he was very enthusiastic and promised me a career within five years if I would place myself unreservedly in his hands.  Of course, we couldn’t afford such an expensive career, and the realization that I had to forego even the special inducements Signor Moretti was generous enough to make me quite broke my heart.  When I told him about it—­we were engaged by that time—­he suggested that we get married immediately, in order that I might reside with him in San Francisco and study under Moretti.  So we motored out into the country one day and were married at San Jose.  He asked me to keep our marriage secret on account of some clause in his father’s will, but I insisted upon my right to tell daddy Brent.  Poor old dear!  My marriage was such a shock to him; but he agreed with me that it was all for the best—­”

“Well, I was quite happy for three months.  My husband’s business interests necessitated very frequent trips North—­”

“What business was he in, Nan?”

“That is immaterial,” she evaded him.  “Presently, Signer Moretti contracted a severe cold and closed his studio for a month.  My husband—­I suppose I must call him that to identify him when I refer to him—­had just gone North on one of his frequent trips, and since he always kept me generously supplied with money, I decided suddenly to take advantage of Moretti’s absence to run up to Port Agnew and visit my father.