was part of my plan--for us to go abroad--" He stopped in confusion,
reddened, went bravely on--"and you to study there and make your debut."

Mildred shook her head. "That's all over," said she. "I've got to
change my plans entirely."

"You're a little depressed, that's all. For a minute you almost
convinced me. What a turn you did give me! I forgot how your voice
sounded the last time I heard it. No, you'd not be so calm, if you
didn't know everything was all right."

Her eyes lit up with sly humor. "Perhaps I'm calm because I feel that
my future's secure as your wife. What more could a woman ask?"

He forced an uncomfortable laugh. "Of course--of course," he said with
a painful effort to be easy and jocose.

"I knew you'd marry me, even if I couldn't sing a note. I knew your
belief in my career had nothing to do with it."

He hesitated, blurted out the truth. "Speaking seriously, that isn't
quite so," said he. "I've got my heart set on your making a great
tear--and I know you'll do it."

"And if you knew I wouldn't, you'd not want to marry me?"

"I don't say that," protested he. "How can I say how I'd feel if you
were different?"

She nodded. "That's sensible, and it's candid," she said. She laid
her hand impulsively on his arm. "I DO like you, Stanley. You have
got such a lot of good qualities. Don't worry. I'm not going to
insist on your marrying me."

"You don't have to do that, Mildred," said he. "I'm staring, raving
crazy about you, though I'm a damn fool to let you know it."

"Yes, it is foolish," said she. "If you'd kept me worrying-- Still, I
guess not. But it doesn't matter. You can protest and urge all you
please, quite safely. I'm not going to marry you. Now let's talk
business."

"Let's talk marriage," said he. "I want this thing settled. You know
you intend to marry me, Mildred. Why not say so? Why keep me gasping
on the hook?"

They heard the front door open, and the rustling of skirts down the
hall. Mildred called:

"Mrs. Brindley! Cyrilla!"

An instant and Cyrilla appeared in the doorway. When she and Baird had
shaken hands, Mildred said:

"Cyrilla, I want you to tell the exact, honest truth. Is there any hope
for a woman with a delicate throat to make a grand-opera career?"

Cyrilla paled, looked pleadingly at Mildred.

"Tell him," commanded Mildred.

"Very little," said Mrs. Brindley. "But--"

"Don't try to soften it," interrupted Mildred. "The