rying days and floods of tears all round. Then
came the solemn and awkward returning of all the engagement cups and
saucers and knicknacks, to nearly our whole circle of acquaintance. My
family stood by me and performed this unattractive task, while I packed
up to return to New York.

I had given up my choir, and now found it a difficult matter to get
another. All the churches had made their arrangements for the year and
the best I could hope for was occasional substituting in case one of the
altos was unable to sing. I made the round of the agents' offices. Some
heard me and were complimentary, some refused as their lists were full.
But when I mentioned the word "engagement," I was always met by the
rejoinder "No experience." I used to say to them, "But how can I ever
get experience if you won't give me a chance?" They would shrug and
answer that that wasn't their affair.

It seemed a hopeless deadlock. No one would engage me without experience
and no one would give me an opportunity to become experienced. I knew
that the one way out of the difficulty was to go abroad and get
experience there. I have said that the idea of singing in opera had
always made a strong appeal to me, and I knew that I had some of the
qualifications necessary for the stage--a big voice, good
stage-appearance, and ability to act (we had always acted) as well as a
great capacity for hard work. But the essential qualification, without
which the others were all ineffective, was the financial support
necessary to get me there and to provide means of studying and of living
adequately while I prepared myself for opera.

I despaired of obtaining this, but the way was suddenly opened for me in
what seemed a miraculous manner. Friends of mine in the church, Frank
Smith Jones and his wife, offered to finance me through my years of
preparation and for as long afterwards as I might need their aid. These
real friends were behind me for years, and I owe them more than I could
ever repay. They made it possible for me to have my sister with me, for
me, a rather delicate girl, an inestimable benefit. In the seventh
heaven of joy, I prepared to go to Paris to study with Jacques Bouhy,
recommended to me by my New York teacher. I packed my few clothes, some
songs, and a boundless enthusiasm, and set sail.

CHAPTER III

PARIS AT LAST

I crossed on one of the steady big boats of the Atlantic Transport Line.
I remember only one passenger, a boy of even