"Tell me," she said in a low voice, controlling herself as much as
possible, "your name, my little man."
"Rod Royal," was the reply.
There was no doubt about it now, and involuntarily the woman reached
out her arms toward him. She drew them back, however, and placed her
hand to her forehead.
"Are you ill, Miss Royanna?" Mr. Markham enquired. "I am afraid that
these boys are tiring you. They must leave at once."
"Yes, I do feel tired, and wish to get back to the hotel."
"And you won't go to the concert?" Rod questioned anxiously. "Whyn
will be so disappointed."
The woman's eyes were now fixed full upon the boy's face. She saw his
lips quiver, and her heart went out to him with one mighty rush. How
she longed to clasp him in her arms, shower kisses upon his little
tanned face, and tell him all. But, no, she must not do it yet. There
was a reason why she should delay. With an effort, therefore, she
restrained herself.
"Will you come with me to the hotel?" she asked. "We can talk it over
there."
"But, Miss Royanna," the manager warned, who saw that she was much
drawn toward the boys, "you must not make any rash promises, You are in
great demand, and it will be a bitter disappointment to many if you do
not sing tomorrow afternoon.
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