erday she might still have hesitated about keeping the engagement
she had signed with Schreiermeyer; but between yesterday and today
there was her first rehearsal, there was the echo of that little round
of real applause from fellow-artists, there was the sound of her own
voice, high and true, singing 'Anges pures'; and there was the smell of
the stage, with its indescribable attraction. To have gone back now
would have been to gainsay every instinct and every aspiration she
felt. She told Mrs. Rushmore this, as quietly as she could.

'You're quite mad,' said Mrs. Rushmore. 'You may say what you please. I
maintain that you are quite mad.'

'I can't help it,' Margaret answered without a smile. 'I began by
wishing to do it to earn my living, if I could, but as it turns out, I
have a great voice. I believe I have one of the great voices of the
day. I'm born to sing, and I should sing if you told me I had millions.
I feel it now, and I am not boasting in the least. Ask Schreiermeyer,
if you like.'

'Who is that person with the queer name?' inquired Mrs. Rushmore
severely.

'He's one of the big managers--the one who has engaged me.'

'Engaged fiddlesticks!' commented Mrs. Rushmore, with contempt. 'I say
you are quite mad. If not, how do you account for your wishing to go on
the stage?'

Margaret was thinking how she could account for it, when Mrs. Rushmore
went on.

'I'll have a specialist out this afternoon to look at you,' she said.
'You're not sane. I wonder who the best man is.'

The last sentence was spoken in an undertone of reflection.

'Nonsense!' exclaimed Margaret emphatically, and adding to the emphasis
by taking off her hat and throwing her head back, shaking it a little
as if she wished her hair were down.

Mrs. Rushmore turned upon her with the moral dignity of five
generations of Puritan ancestors.

'Do you mean to say that after all I've done to get you this money, you
are going to give me up to be an actress?' she demanded with scorn.
'That you're going to give up your best friends, and your position as a
lady, and the chance of making a respectable marriage, not to mention
your immortal soul, just for the pleasure of showing yourself every
night half-dressed to every commercial traveller in Europe? It's
disgraceful. I don't care what you say. You're insane. You shan't do
it!'

At this view of the case Margaret's forehead flushed a little.

'You talk as if I were going to be a music-hall sin