A Song Begins [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONE It was raining, but she was not aware of it. People passed her, but she did not see them. For, as she climbed the steep hill to the small house at the top where she lived, Anthea Benton walked in a world of her own. There had been nothing to tell her that this day would not be like any other, day. She had gone to her singing lesson that afternoon expecting it to be like any other singing lesson. Absorbing, fascinating, challenging—but just a singing lesson. And then, at the end, Miss Sharon—her strict, somewhat waspish, utterly dedicated teacher—^had said, "Sit down, Anthea. I have something serious to say to you." She had sat down, impressed by Miss Sharon's air, her heart beating suddenly lest she were going to be told that, on reflection, her teacher thought it a waste of time for her to go on with her studies. (From which it will be seen that Anthea had a nice sense of modesty and no delusions of grandeur.) Possibly it was because of this innate humility of Anthea's that Miss Sharon—a cautious and critical woman —allowed herself to continue: "I have never said this to any pupil before, Anthea, and I doubt if I shall ever have reason to say it again. But of all those who have passed through my hands—and heaven knows they have been a motley lot—" she added acidly, "you are the only one to convince me that you are worthy of a professional career." "Why—why, thank you." Anthea gave a small gasp of 5