hy
have you never sung in opera?"

"Why should I?"

"Because he said that there was your especial talent, only he called it
by a stronger name. He jeers at the work you are doing."

Thayer smiled.

"I am sorry. I thought it was good work."

"So it is, as far as it goes. But the other goes farther."

"Perhaps," he assented. "But do you think it is as--as--"

"Good form?" she queried, laughing. "Yes, if you choose to have it so.
It depends something upon the individual. With your training and
traditions, you would scarcely elect to sing comic opera in English."

"Heaven forbid!" he said hastily. "But there are grades and grades, even
of the other. Not many mortals reach the top round of the ladder."

"No; and, even if they did, they would be a good deal in your way, for
the space up there is limited. It will be merely a question of your own
will whether or not you occupy a part of it."

He was surprised at the turn the conversation had taken. No woman, not
even Miss Gannion, had ever dared question to him the wisdom of his
choice, or imply to him that there were laurels which he had not yet
plucked. Strange to say, he rather enjoyed the frank fashion in which
Beatrix was taking him to task. Nevertheless, he fenced a little.

"I have always preferred a moderate success to an immoderate failure,"
he answered her.

She shook her head.

"That sounds specious; but you know it is a quibble. I had never
supposed that your ambition was so limited."

"But it is not the mark of limitation to know where my success lies."

"Perhaps not. For my part, though, I don't want to rest on any success.
If I succeed in one thing, that is over and done with, and I want to try
for something else."

"And if you fail?"

"Then, as soon as I am quite sure it is a failure and that no power of
mine can beat it into a success, I try to turn my back upon it, and face
another problem," she replied, with a quiet dignity which ignored the
flush that rose in both their faces at the careless question.

Thayer, too, had seen the flush in her cheeks which had answered to his
own rising color. For an instant, he questioned whether it were an
unwitting acknowledgment that her power over Lorimer was more limited
than she had supposed. Then he dismissed the suspicion. Her poise was
too perfect to make such a supposition possible. It was only that he,
knowing the truth, sought for confirmation upon all sides.

"You are a good fighter," he re