o-stool, looking at him.

"You sing all right; you are doing your part--as far as I can discover."

"There is nothing for you to discover that I have not told you," she
said gravely. In her manner there was a subdued dignity which he had
noticed recently--something of the self-confidence of the very young and
unspoiled--which, considering all things, he could not exactly account
for.

"Does that doddering old dancing-master of yours behave himself?"

"Yes--since you spoke to him. Mr. Bulder came to the school again."

"What did you say to him?"

"I told him that you wouldn't let me sing in 'The Inca.'"

"And what did Bulder say?"

"He was persistent but perfectly respectful; asked if he might confer
with you. He wrote to you I think, didn't he?"

Malcourt nodded and lighted a cigarette.

"Dolly," he said, "do you want to sing _Chaske_ in 'The Inca' next
winter?"

"Yes, I do--if you think it is all right." She added in a low voice: "I
want to do what will please you, Louis."

"I don't know whether it's the best thing to do, but--you may have to."
He laid his cigarette in a saucer, watched the smoke curling
ceilingward, and said as though to himself:

"I should like to be certain that you can support yourself--within a
reasonable time from now--say a year. That is all, Dolly."

"I can do it now if you wish it--" The expression of his face checked
her.

"I don't mean a variety career devoted to 'mother' songs," he said with
a sneer. "There's a middle course between diamonds and 'sinkers.' You'll
get there if you don't kick over the traces.... Have you made any more
friends?"

"Yes."

"Are they respectable?"

"Yes," she said, colouring.

"Has anybody been impertinent?"

"Mr. Williams."

"I'll attend to him--the little squirt!... Who are your new friends?"

"There's a perfectly sweet girl in the French class, Marguerite Barret.
I think she likes me.... Louis, I don't believe you understand how very
happy I am beginning to be--"

"Do people come here?"

"Yes, on Sunday afternoons; I know nearly a dozen nice girls now, and
those men I told you about--Mr. Snyder, Mr. Jim Anthony and his brother
the artist, and Mr. Cass and Mr. Renwick."

"You can cut out Renwick," he said briefly.

She seemed surprised. "He has always been perfectly nice to me,
Louis--"

"Cut him out, Dolly. I know the breed."

"Of course, if you wish."

He looked at her, convinced in spite of himself. "Always ask me abou