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u've thought； talking is a waste of time。''
She rose； stood staring out to sea。 He was observing her； a faint smile about his lips。 He said：
‘‘Why bother about a career？ After all； kept woman is a thoroughly respectable occupationor can be made so by any preacher or justice of the peace。 It's followed by many of our best womenthose who pride themselves on their high charactersand on their pride。''
‘‘I could not belong to a man unless I cared for him；'' said she。 ‘‘I tried it once。 I shall never do it again。''
‘‘That sounds fine；'' said he。 ‘‘Let's go to lunch。''
‘‘You don't believe me？''
‘‘Do you？''
She sank down upon the sand and burst into a wild passion of sobs and tears。 When her fight for self… control was over and she looked up to apologize for her pitiful exhibition of weaknessand to note whether she had made an impression upon his sympathiesshe saw him just entering the house； a quarter of a mile away。 To anger succeeded a mood of desperate forlornness。 She fell upon herself with gloomy ferocity。 She could not sing。 She had no brains。 She was taking moneya disgracefully large amount of money from Stanley Baird under false pretenses。 How could she hope to sing when her voice could not be relied upon？ Was not her throat at that very moment slightly sore？ Was it not always going queer？ Shesing！ Absurd。 Did Stanley Baird suspect？ Was he waiting for the time when she would gladly accept what she must have from him； on his own terms？ No； not on his terms； but on the terms she herself would arrange the only terms she could make。 No； Stanley believed in her absolutelybelieved in her career。 When he discovered the truth； he would lose interest in her； would regard her as a poor； worthless creature； would be eager to rid himself of her。 Instead of returning to the house； she went in the opposite direction； made a circuit and buried herself in the woods beyond the Shrewsbury。 She was mad to get away from her own company； but the only company she could fly to was more depressing than the solitude and the taunt and sneer and lash of her own thoughts。 It was late in the afternoon before she nerved herself to go home。 She hoped the others would have gone off somewhere； but they were waiting for her； Stanley anxious and Cyrilla Brindley irritated。 Her eyes sought Keith。 He was； as usual； the indifferent spectator。
‘‘Where have you been？'' cried Stanley。
‘‘Making up my mind；'' said she in the tone that forewarns of a storm。
A brief pause。 She struggled in vain against an impulse to look at Keith。 When her eyes turned in his direction he； not looking at her； moved in his listless way toward the door。 Said he：
‘‘The auto's waiting。 Come on。''
She vacillated； yielded； began to put on the wraps Stanley was collecting for her。 It was a big touring… car； and they sat two and two； with the chauffeur alone。 Keith was beside Mildred。 When they were under way； she said：
‘‘Why did you stop me？ Perhaps I'll never have the courage again。''
‘‘Courage for what？'' asked he。
‘‘To take your advice； and break off。''
‘‘MY advice？''
‘‘Yes； your advice。''
‘‘You have to clutch at and cling to somebody； don't you？ You can't bear the idea of standing up by your own strength。''
‘‘You think I'm trying to fasten to you？'' she said； with an angry laugh。
‘‘I know it。 You admitted it。 You are not satisfied with the way things are going。 You have doubts about your career。 You shrink from your only comfortable alternative； if the career winks out。 You ask me my opinion about yourself and about careers。 I give it。 Now； I find you asked only that you might have someone to lean on； to accuse of having got you into a mess； if doing what you think you ought to do turns out as badly as you fear。''
It was the longest speech she had heard him make。 She had no inclination to dispute his analysis of her motives。 ‘‘I did not realize it；'' said she； ‘‘but that is probably so。 Butremember how I was brought up。''
‘‘There's only one thing for you to do。''
‘‘Go back to my husband？ You knowabout me don't you？''
‘‘Yes''
‘‘I can't go back to him。''
‘‘No。''
‘‘Thenwhat？'' she asked。
‘‘Go on； as now；'' replied he。
‘‘You despise me； don't you？''
‘‘No。''
‘‘But you said you did。''
‘‘Dislike and despise are not at all the same。''
‘‘You admit that you dislike me；'' cried she triumphantly。 He did not answer。
‘‘You think me a weak； clinging creature； not able to do anything but make pretenses。''
No answer。
‘‘Don't you？'' she persisted。
‘‘Probably I have about the same opinion of you that you have of yourself。''
‘‘What WILL become of me？'' she said。 Her face lighted up with an expression of reckless beauty。 ‘‘If I could only get started I'd go to the devil； laughing and dancingand taking a train with me。''
‘‘You ARE started；'' said he； with an amiable smile。 ‘‘Keep on。 But I doubt if you'll be so well amused as you may imagine。 Going to the devil isn't as it's painted in novels by homely old maids and by men too timid to go out of nights。 A few steps farther； and your disillusionment will begin。 But there'll be no turning back。 Already； you are almost too old to make a career。''
‘‘I'm only twenty…four。 I flattered myself I looked still younger。''
‘‘It's worse than I thought；'' said he。 ‘‘Most of the singers； even the second…rate ones； began at fifteen began seriously。 And you haven't begun yet。''
‘‘That's unjust；'' she protested。 ‘‘I've done a little。 Many great people would think it a great deal。''
‘‘You haven't begun yet；'' repeated he calmly。 ‘‘You have spent a lot of money； and have done a lot of dreaming and talking and listening to compliments； and have taken a lot of lessons of an expensive charlatan。 But what have those things to do with a career？''
‘‘You've never heard me sing。''
‘‘I do not care for singing。''
‘‘Oh！'' said she in a tone of relief。 ‘‘Then you know nothing about all this。''
‘‘On the contrary； I know everything about a career。 And we were talking of careers； not of singing。''
‘‘You mean that my voice is worthless because I haven't the other elements？''
‘‘What else could I have meant？'' said he。 ‘‘You haven't the strength。 You haven't the health。''
She laughed as she straightened herself。 ‘‘Do I look weak and sickly？'' cried she。
‘‘For the purposes of a career as a female you are strong and well；'' said he。 ‘‘For the purpose of a career as a singer'' He smiled and shook his head。 ‘‘A singer must have muscles like wire ropes； like a blacksmith or a washerwoman。 The other day we were climbing a hilla not very steep hill。 You stopped five times for breath； and twice you sat down to rest。''
She was literally hanging her head with shame。 ‘‘I wasn't very well that day；'' she murmured。
‘‘Don't deceive yourself；'' said he。 ‘‘Don't indulge in the fatal folly of self…excuse。''
‘‘Go on；'' she said humbly。 ‘‘I want to hear it all。''
‘‘Is your throat sore to…day？'' pursued he。
She colored。 ‘‘It's better；'' she murmured。
‘‘A singer with sore throat！'' mocked he。 ‘‘You've had a slight fogginess of the voice all summer。''
‘‘It's this sea air；'' she eagerly pr