The Fifth String: I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII
The coming of Diotti to America had awakened more than usual interestin the man and his work. His marvelous success as violinist in theleading capitals of Europe, together with many brilliant contributionsto the literature of his instrument, had long been favorably commentedon by the critics of the old world. Many stories of his struggles andhis triumphs had found their way across the ocean and had been read andre-read with interest.
Therefore, when Mr. Henry Perkins, the well-known impresario, announcedwith an air of conscious pride and pardonable enthusiasm that he hadsecured Diotti for a "limited" number of concerts, Perkins' friendsassured that wide-awake gentleman that his foresight amounted topositive genius, and they predicted an unparalleled success for hisstar. On account of his wonderful ability as player, Diotti was afavorite at half the courts of Europe, and the astute Perkins enlargedupon this fact without regard for the feelings of the courts or theviolinist.
On the night preceding Diotti's debut in New York, he was the center ofattraction at a reception given by Mrs. Llewellyn, a social leader, anda devoted patron of the arts. The violinist made a deep impression onthose fortunate enough to be near him during the evening. He won therespect of the men by his observations on matters of internationalinterest, and the admiration of the gentler sex by his chivalricestimate of woman's influence in the world's progress, on which subjecthe talked with rarest good humor and delicately implied gallantry.
During one of those sudden and unexplainable lulls that always occur ingeneral drawing-room conversations, Diotti turned to Mrs. Llewellyn andwhispered: "Who is the charming young woman just entering?"
"The beauty in white?"
"Yes, the beauty in white," softly echoing Mrs. Llewellyn's query. Heleaned forward and with eager eyes gazed in admiration at thenew-comer. He seemed hypnotized by the vision, which moved slowly frombetween the blue-tinted portieres and stood for the instant, a perfectembodiment of radiant womanhood, silhouetted against the silken drapery.
"That is Miss Wallace, Miss Mildred Wallace, only child of one of NewYork's prominent bankers."
"She is beautiful—a queen by divine right," crie