t the mechanics of an art is to hamper or
to kill inspiration. Geniuses--a few--and they not the
greatest--have been too lazy to train their instruments. But
anyone who is merely talented dares not take the risk. And
you--we'd better assume--are merely talented."

Streathern, who had a deserved reputation as a coach, was
disgusted with Brent's degradation of an art. As openly as he
dared, he warned Susan against the danger of becoming a mere
machine--a puppet, responding stiffly to the pulling of
strings. But Susan had got over her momentary irritation
against Brent, her doubt of his judgment in her particular
case. She ignored Streathern's advice that she should be
natural, that she should let her own temperament dictate
variations on his cut and dried formulae for expression. She
continued to do as she was bid.

"If you are _not_ a natural born actress," said Brent, "at
least you will be a good one--so good that most critics will
call you great. And if you _are_ a natural born genius at
acting, you will soon put color in the cheeks of these dolls
I'm giving you--and ease into their bodies--and nerves and
muscles and blood in place of the strings."

In the seventh week he abruptly took her out of the company
and up to London to have each day an hour of singing, an hour
of dancing, and an hour of fencing. "You'll ruin her health,"
protested Freddie. "You're making her work like a ditch digger."

Brent replied, "If she hasn't the health, she's got to abandon
the career. If she has health, this training will give it
steadiness and solidity. If there's a weakness anywhere,
it'll show itself and can be remedied."

And he piled the work on her, dictated her hours of sleep, her
hours for rest and for walking, her diet--and little he gave
her to eat. When he had her thoroughly broken to his regimen,
he announced that business compelled his going immediately to
America. "I shall be back in a month," said he.

"I think I'll run over with you," said Palmer. "Do you mind, Susan?"

"Clelie and I shall get on very well," she replied. She would
be glad to have both out of the way that she might give her
whole mind to the only thing that now interested her. For the
first time she was experiencing the highest joy that comes to
mortals, the only joy that endures and grows and defies all the
calamities of circumstances--the joy of work congenial and developing.

"Yes--come along," said Brent to Palmer. "Here