As Patricia usually wished to be first in anything, and was offended if not given precedence, it certainly looked as if she were planning to have her solo the crowning event of the evening.
Soon after seven a buzz of voices told Dorothy that the pupils had assembled early, and she would have joined them, but Mrs. Marvin had said that each of the soloists must be announced, and must come onto the stage, and greet her audience as if she were a professional.
All had been carefully arranged, and Vera Vane was to announce each performer.
Dorothy had chosen a light-blue dress, her pumps and hose of the same shade. The dress was charming, because of its lovely coloring, and its graceful lines.
"The first number to-night will be a waltz song by Dorothy Dainty."
Dorothy's voice had been carefully trained, and very sweetly she sang, one especial charm being that every word could be clearly heard, which is more than can be said of many singers who have studied for years.
How sweet was the voice, how happy her smile as she sang:
"Oh, how lovely are my flowers In the morning wet with dew, Ah, they courtesy to the morning Off'ring gifts of fragrance new. Then the sound of bird wings whirring Wake again the drowsy trees, And the tiny brooks are stirring, Running onward to the sea. Oh, how lovely are my flowers When the twilight shadows creep, Hosts of fairy folks come trooping, Where my flowers lie asleep."
Surely no singer was ever more graciously received.
There were to be no encores because of limited time.
Lights were usually out at nine-thirty, but the socials were from eight to ten. The concert must be brief to allow sufficient time afterward for games.
"The next number will be a dance by Nancy Ferris."
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.