ing　up　with　anything　in　some　one　man　I　happened　to　fancy　strongly。　　But　men　are　foolish　about　the　whole　sexor　all　of　them　that　have　a　shadow　of　a　claim　to　good　looks。''
  ‘‘Yes；　the　men　make　fools　of　themselves；''　admitted　he。　　‘‘But　I　notice　that　the　men　manage　somehow　to　make　the　careers；　and　hold　on　to　the　money　and　the　power；　while　the　women　have　to　wheedle　and　fawn　and　submit　in　order　to　get　what　they　want　from　the　men。　There's　nothing　to　be　said　for　your　sex。　　It's　been　hopelessly　corrupted　by　mine。　　For　all　the　talk　about　the　influence　of　woman；　what　impression　has　your　sex　made　upon　mine？　　And　your　sexit　has　been　made　by　mine　into　exactly　what　we　wished　it　to　be。　　Take　my　advice；　get　out　of　your　sex。　　Abandon　it；　and　make　a　career。''
  After　a　while　she　recalled　with　a　start　the　events　of　less　than　an　hour　agoevents　that　ought　to　have　seemed　wildly　exciting；　arousing　the　deepest　and　strongest　emotions。　　Yet　they　had　made　no　impression　upon　her。　　Absolutely　none。　　She　had　no　horror　in　the　thought　that　she　had　been　the　victim　of　a　bigamist；　she　had　no　elation　over　her　release　into　freedom　and　safety。　　She　wondered　whether　this　arose　from　utter　frivolousness　or　from　indifference　to　the　trifles　of　conventional　joys；　sorrows；　agitations；　excitements　which　are　the　whole　life　of　most　peoplethat　indifference　which　is　the　cause　of　the　general　opinion　that　men　and　women　who　make　careers　are　usually　hardened　in　the　process。
  As　she　lay　awake　that　nightshe　had　got　a　very　bad　habit　of　lying　awake　hour　after　hourshe　suddenly　came　to　a　decision。　　But　she　did　not　tell　Keith　for　several　days。　　She　did　it　in　this　way：
  ‘‘Don't　you　think　I'm　looking　better？''　she　asked。
  ‘‘You're　sleeping　again；''　said　he。
  ‘‘Do　you　know　why？　　Because　my　mind's　at　rest。　I've　decided　to　accept　your　offer。''
  ‘‘And　my　terms？''　said　he；　apparently　not　interested　by　her　announcement。
  ‘‘And　your　terms；''　assented　she。　　‘‘You　are　free　to　stop　whenever　the　whim　strikes　you；　I　must　do　exactly　as　you　bid。　　What　do　you　wish　me　to　do？''
  ‘‘Nothing　at　present；''　replied　he。　　‘‘I　will　let　you　know。''
  She　was　disappointed。　　She　had　assumed　that　something　something　new　and　interesting；　probably　irritating；　perhaps　enraging；　would　occur　at　once。　　His　indifference；　his　putting　off　to　a　future　time；　which　his　manner　made　seem　most　hazily　indefinite；　gave　her　the　foolish　and　collapsing　sense　of　having　broken　through　an　open　door。
  VII
  THE　first　of　September　they　went　up　to　town。　Stanley　left　at　once　for　his　annual　shooting　trip；　Donald　Keith　disappeared；　sayingas　was　his　habit　neither　what　he　was　about　nor　when　he　would　be　seen　again。　　Mrs。　Brindley　summoned　her　pupils　and　her　musical　friends。　　Mildred　resumed　the　lessons　with　Jennings。　　There　was　no　doubt　about　it；　she　had　astonishingly　improved　during　the　summer。　　There　had　comeor；　rather；　had　come　backinto　her　voice　the　birdlike　quality；　free；　joyous；　spontaneous；　that　had　not　been　there　since　her　father's　death　and　the　family's　downfall。　　She　was　glad　that　her　arrangement　with　Donald　Keith　was　of　such　a　nature　that　she　was　really　not　bound　to　go　on　with　itif　he　should　ever　come　back　and　remind　her　of　what　she　had　said。　　Now　that　Jennings　was　enthusiasticgiving　just　and　deserved　praise；　as　her　own　ear　and　Mrs。　Brindley　assured　her；　she　was　angry　at　herself　for　having　tolerated　Keith's　frankness；　his　insolence；　his　insulting　and　contemptuous　denials　of　her　ability。　　She　was　impatient　to　see　him；　that　she　might　put　him　down。　　She　said　to　Jennings：
  ‘‘You　think　I　can　make　a　career？''
  ‘‘There　isn't　a　doubt　in　my　mind　now；''　replied　he。　‘‘You　ought　to　be　one　of　the　few　great　lyric　sopranos　within　five　years。''
  ‘‘A　man；　this　summera　really　unusual　man　in　some　waystold　me　there　was　no　hope　for　me。''
  ‘‘A　singing　teacher？''
  ‘‘No；　a　lawyer。　　A　Mr。　KeithDonald　Keith。''
  ‘‘I've　heard　of　him；''　said　Jennings。　　‘‘His　mother　was　Rivi；　the　famous　coloratura　of　twenty　years　ago。''
  Mildred　was　astounded。　　‘‘He　must　know　something　about　music。''
  ‘‘Probably；''　replied　Jennings。　　‘‘He　lived　with　her　in　Italy；　I　believe；　until　he　was　almost　grown。　　Then　she　died。　　You　sang　for　him？''
  ‘‘No；''　Mildred　said　it　hesitatingly。
  ‘‘Oh！''　said　Jennings；　and　his　expressioninterested；　disturbed；　puzzledmade　Mildred　understand　why　she　had　been　so　reluctant　to　confess。　　Jennings　did　not　pursue　the　subject；　but　abruptly　began　the　lesson。　　That　day　and　several　days　thereafter　he　put　her　to　tests　he　had　never　used　before。　　She　saw　that　he　was　searching　for　somethingfor　the　flaw　implied　in　the　adverse　verdict　of　the　son　of　Lucia　Rivi。　　She　was　enormously　relieved　when　he　gave　over　the　search　without　having　found　the　flaw。　　She　felt　that　Donald　Keith's　verdict　had　been　proved　false　or　at　least　faulty。　Yet　she　was　not　wholly　reassured；　and　from　time　to　time　she　suspected　that　Jennings　had　not　been；　either。
  Soon　the　gayety　of　the　preceding　winter　and　spring　was　in　full　swing　again。　　Keith　did　not　return；　did　not　write；　and　Cyrilla　Brindley　inquired　and　telephoned　in　vain。　　Mildred　worked　with　enthusiasm；　with　hope；　presently　with　confidence。　　She　hoped　every　day　that　Keith　would　come；　she　would　make　him　listen　to　her；　force　him　to　admit。　　She　caught　a　slight　cold；　neglected　it；　tried　to　sing　it　away。　　Her　voice　left　her　abruptly。　　She　went　to　Jennings　as　usual　the　day　she　found　herself　able　to　do　nothing　more　musical　than　squeak。　　She　told　him　her　plight。　　Said　he：
  ‘‘Begin！　　Let's　hear。''
  She　made　a　few　dismal　attempts；　stopped　short；　and；　half　laughing；　half　ashamed；　faced　him　for　the　lecture　she　knew　would　be　forthcoming。　　Now；　it　so　happened　that　Jennings　was　in　a　frightful　humor　that　dayone　of　those　humors　in　which　the　most　prudent　lose　their　self…control。　　He　had　been　listening　to　a　succession　of　new　pupilswomen　with　money　and　no　voice；　women　who　screeched　and　screamed　and　thoroughly　enjoyed　themselves　and　angled　confidently　for　compliments。　　As　Jennings　had　an　acute　musical　ear；　his　sufferings　had　been　frightful。　　He　was　used　to　these　torments；　had　the　habit　of　turning　the　fury　into　which　they　put　him　into　excellent　financial　or　disciplinary　account。　　But　on　this　particular　day　his　nerves　went　to　pieces；　and　it　was　with　Mildred　that　the　explosion　came。　　When　she　looked　at　him；　she　was　horrified　to　see　a　face　distorted　and　discolored　by　sheer　rage。
  ‘‘You　fool！''　he　shouted；　storming　up　and　down。　‘‘You　fool！　　You　can't　sing！　　Keith　was　right。　　You　wouldn't　do　even　for　a　church　choir。　　You　can't　be　relied　on。　　There's　nothing　behind　your　voiceno　strength；　no　endurance；　no　brains。　　No　brains！　　Do　you　hear？no　brains；　I　say！''
  Mildred　was　terrified。　　She　had　seen　him　in　tantrums　before；　but　always　there　had　been　a　judicious　reserving　of　part　of　the　truth。　　Instead　of　resenting；　instead　of　flashing　eye　or　quivering　lips；　Mildred　sat　down　and　with　white　face　and　dazed　eyes　stared　straight　before　her。　Jennings　raved　and　roared　himself　out。　　As　he　came　to　his　senses　from　this　debauch　of　truth…telling　his　first　thought　was　how　expensive　it　might　be。　　Thus；　long　before　there　was　any　outward　sign　that　the　storm　had　passed；　the　ravings；　the　insults　were　shrewdly　tempered　with　qualifyings。　　If　she　kept　on　catching　these　colds；　if　she　did　not　obey　his　instructions；　she　might　put　off　her　debut　for　yearsfor　three　years；　for　two　years　at　least。　　And　she　would　always　be　rowing　with　managers　and　irritating　the　publicand　so　on　and　on。　　But　the　mischief　had　been　done。　　The　girl　did　not　rouse。
  ‘‘No　use　to　go　on　to…day；''　he　said　grufflythe　pretense　at　last　rumblings　of　an　expiring　storm。
  ‘‘Nor　any　other　day；''　said　Mildred。
  She　stood　and　straightened　herself。　　Her　face　was　beautiful　rather　than　lovely。　　Its　pallor；　its　strong　lines；　the　melancholy　intensity　of　the　eyes；　made　her　seem　more　the　woman　fully　developed；　less；　far　less；　the　maturing　girl。
  ‘‘Nonsense！''　scolded　Jennings。　　‘‘But　no　more　colds　like　that。　　They　impair　the　quality　of　the　voice。''
  ‘‘I　have　no　voice；''　said　the　girl。　　‘‘I　see　the　truth。''
  Jennings　was　inwardly　cursing　his　insane　temper。　In　about　the　kindliest　tone　he　had　ever　used　with　her；　he　said：　　‘‘My　dear　Miss　Stevens；　you　are　in　no　condition　to　judge　to…day。　　Come　back　to…morrow。　　Do　something　for　that　cold　to…night。　　Clear　out　the　throat　and　come　back　to…morrow。　　You　will　see。''
  ‘‘Yes；　I　know　those　tricks；''　said　she；　with　a　sad　little　smile。　　‘‘You　can　make　a　crow　seem　to　sing。　　But　you　told　me　the　truth。''
  ‘‘To…morrow；''　he　cried　pleasantly；　giving　her　an　encouraging　pat　on　the　shoulder。　　He　knew　the　folly　of　talking　too　much；　the　danger　of　confirming　her　fears　by　pretending　to　make　light　of　them。　　‘‘A　good　sleep；　and　to…morrow　things　will　look　brighter。''
  He　did　not　like　her　expression。　　It　was　not　the　one　he　was　used　to　seeing　in　those　vain；　‘‘temperamental''　pupils　of　histhe　downcast　vanity　that　will　be　up　again　in　a　few　hours。　　It　was　rather　the　expression　of　one　who　has　been　finally　and　forever　disillusioned。
  On　her　way　home　she　stopped　to　send　Keith　a　telegram：　　‘‘I　must　see　you　at　once。''
  There　were　several　at　the　apartment　for　tea；　among　them　Cullan；　an　amateur　violinist　and　critic　on　music　whom　she　especially　liked。　　For；　instead　of　the　dreamy；　rom