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‘‘Just as you are；'' he commanded。 ‘‘Try to forget yourself。 Try to forget me。 Try to forget what a brute I am； and what a wonderful singer you are。 Just open your mouth and throw the notes out。''
She was rosy with rage。 She was reckless。 She sang。 At the end of three pages he stopped her with an enthusiastic hand…clapping。 ‘‘Good！ Good！'' he cried。 ‘‘I'll take you。 I'll make a singer of you。 Yes； yes； there's something to work on。''
The door opened。 A tall； thin woman with many jewels and a superb fur wrap came gliding in。 Jennings looked at the clock。 The hands pointed to eleven。 Said he to Mildred：
‘‘Take that book with you。 Practice what you've done to…day。 Learn to keep your mouth open。 We'll go into that further next time。'' He was holding the door open for her。 As she passed out； she heard him say：
‘‘Ah； Mrs。 Roswell。 We'll go at that third song first。''
The door closed。 Reviewing all that had occurred； Mildred decided that she must revise her opinion of Jennings。 A money…maker he no doubt was。 And why not？ Did he not have to live？ But a teacher also； and a great teacher。 Had he not destroyed her vanity at one blow； demolished it？yet without discouraging her。 And he went straight to the bottom of things very different from any of the teachers she used to have when she was posing in drawing…rooms as a person with a voice equal to the most difficult opera； if only she weren't a lady and therefore not forced to be a professional singing person。 Yes； a great teacherand in deadly earnest。 He would permit no trifling！ How she would have to work！
And she went to work with an energy she would not have believed she possessed。 He instructed her minutely in how to stand； in how to breathe； in how to open her mouth and keep it open； in how to relax her throat and leave it relaxed。 He filled every second of her half…hour； she had never before realized how much time half an hour was； how use could be made of every one of its eighteen hundred seconds。 She went to hear other teachers give lessons； and she understood why Jennings could get such prices； could treat his pupils as he saw fit。 She became an extravagant admirer of him as a teacher； thought him a genius； felt confident that he would make a great singer of her。 With the second lesson she began to progress rapidly。 In a few weeks she amazed herself。 At last she was really singing。 Not in a great way； but in the beginnings of a great way。 Her voice had many times the power of her drawing…room days。 Her notes were full and round； and came without an effort。 Her former ideas of what constituted facial and vocal expression now seemed ridiculous to her。 She was now singing without making those dreadful faces which she had once thought charming and necessary。 Her lower register； always her best； was almost perfect。 Her middle registerthe test part of a voicewas showing signs of strength and steadiness and evenness。 And she was fast getting a real upper register； as distinguished from the forced and shrieky high notes that pass as an upper register with most singers； even opera singers。 After a month of this marvelous forward march； she sang for Mrs。 Brindleysang the same song she had essayed at their first meeting。 When she finished； Mrs。 Brindley said：
‘‘Yes； you've done wonders。 I've been noticing your improvement as you practiced。 You certainly have a very different voice and method from those you had a month ago；'' and so on through about five minutes of critical and discriminating praise。
Mildred listened； wondering why her dissatisfaction； her irritation； increased as Mrs。 Brindley praised on and on。 Beyond question Cyrilla was sincere； and was saying even more than Mildred had hoped she would say。 Yet Mildred sat moodily measuring off octaves on the keyboard of the piano。 If she had been looking at her friend's face she would have flared out in anger； for Cyrilla Brindley was taking advantage of her abstraction to observe her with friendly sympathy and sadness。 Presently she concealed this candid expression and said：
‘‘You are satisfied with your progress； aren't you； Miss Stevens？''
Mildred flared up angrily。 ‘‘Certainly！'' replied she。 ‘‘How could I fail to be？''
Mrs。 Brindley did not answerperhaps because she thought no answer was needed or expected。 But to Mildred her silence somehow seemed a denial。
‘‘If you can only keep what you've gotand go on；'' said Mrs。 Brindley。
‘‘Oh； I shall； never fear；'' retorted Mildred。
‘‘But I do fear；'' said Mrs。 Brindley。 ‘‘I think it's always well to fear until success is actually won。 And then there's the awful fear of not being able to hold it。''
After a moment's silence Mildred； who could not hide away resentment against one she liked； said： ‘‘Why aren't YOU satisfied； Mrs。 Brindley？''
‘‘But I am satisfied；'' protested Cyrilla。 ‘‘Only it makes me afraid to see YOU so well satisfied。 I've seen that often in people first starting； and it's always dangerous。 You see； my dear； you've got a straight…away hundred miles to walk。 Can't you see that it would be possible for you to become too much elated by the way you walked the first part of the first mile？''
‘‘Why do you try to discourage me？'' said Mildred。
Mrs。 Brindley colored。 ‘‘I do it because I want to save you from despair a little later；'' said she。 ‘‘But that is foolish of me。 I shall only irritate you against me。 I'll not do it again。 And please don't ask my opinion。 If you do； I can't help showing exactly what I think。''
‘‘Then you don't think I've done well？'' cried Mildred。
‘‘Indeed you have；'' replied Cyrilla warmly。
‘‘Then I don't understand。 What DO you mean？''
‘‘I'll tell you； and then I'll stop and you must not ask my opinion again。 We live too close together to be able to afford to criticize each other。 What I meant was this： You have done well the first part of the great task that's before you。 If you had done it any less well； it would have been folly for you to go on。''
‘‘That is； what I've done doesn't amount to anything？ Mr。 Jennings doesn't agree with you。''
‘‘Doubtless he's right；'' said Mrs。 Brindley。 ‘‘At any rate； we all agree that you have shown that you have a voice。''
She said this so simply and heartily that Mildred could not but be mollified。 Mrs。 Brindley changed the subject to the song Mildred had sung； and Mildred stopped puzzling over the mystery of what she had meant by her apparently enthusiastic words； which had yet diffused a chill atmosphere of doubt。
She was doing her scales so well that she became impatient of such ‘‘tiresome child's play。'' And presently Jennings gave her songs； and did not discourage her when she talked of roles； of getting seriously at what； after all； she intended to do。 Then there came a week of vile weather； and Mildred caught a cold。 She neglected it。 Her voice left her。 Her tonsils swelled。 She had a bad attack of ulcerated sore throat。 For nearly three weeks she could not take a single one of the lessons； which were； nevertheless； paid for。 Jennings rebuked her sharply。
‘‘A singer has no right to be sick；'' said he。
‘‘You have a cold yourself；'' retorted she。