d herself. She made a
blunder of her third trial.

"Really, Miss Gower, that will never do," said he mildly. "Let me show
you how you did it."

He gave an imitation of her--a slight caricature. A titter ran through
the chorus. He sternly rebuked them and requested her to try again.
Her fourth attempt was her worst. He shook his head in gentle
remonstrance. "Not quite right yet," said he regretfully. "But we'll
go on."

Not far, however. He stopped her again. Again the courteous, kindly
criticism. And so on, through the entire act. By the end of it,
Mildred's nerves were unstrung. She saw the whole game, and realized
how helpless she was. Before the end of that rehearsal, Mildred had
slipped back from promising professional into clumsy amateur, tolerable
only because of the beautiful freshness of her voice--and it was a
question whether voice alone would save her. Yet no one but Mildred
herself suspected that Ransdell had done it, had revenged himself, had
served notice on her that since she felt strong enough to stand alone
she was to have every opportunity to do so. He had said nothing
disagreeable; on the contrary, he had been most courteous, most
forbearing.

In the third act she was worse than in the second. At the end of the
rehearsal the others, theretofore flattering and encouraging, turned
away to talk among themselves and avoided her. Ransdell, about to
leave, said:

"Don't look so down-hearted, Miss Gower. You'll be all right
to-morrow. An off day's nothing."

He said it loudly enough for the others to hear. Mildred's face grew
red with white streaks across it, like the prints of a lash. The
subtlest feature of his malevolence had been that, whereas on other
days he had taken her aside to criticize her, on this day he had spoken
out--gently, deprecatingly, but frankly--before the whole company.
Never had Mildred Gower been so sad and so blue as she was that day and
that night. She came to the rehearsal the following day with a sore
throat. She sang, but her voice cracked on the high notes. It was a
painful exhibition. Her fellow principals, who had been rather glad of
her set-back the day before, were full of pity and sympathy. They did
not express it; they were too kind for that. But their looks, their
drawing away from her--Mildred could have borne sneers and jeers
better. And Ransdell was SO forbearing, SO gentle.

Her voice got better, got worse. Her acting remained medi