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 come--or, rather,
had come back--into 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 it--if
he should ever come back and remind her of what she had said. Now that
Jennings was enthusiastic--giving 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 summer--a really unusual man in some ways--told me there
was no hope for me."

"A singing teacher?"

"No, a lawyer. A Mr. Keith--Donald 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 expression--interested, disturbed,
puzzled--made 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
something--for 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