l go to see the lady whose name and address are written on this
card, I think you will find the quarters you are looking for."

"Thank you," said Mildred.

"Come to me--my address is on the card, also--at half-past ten on
Saturday. We will then lay out your work."

"If you find I have a voice worth while," Mildred ventured.

"That, of course," said Mr. Jennings curtly. "Until half-past ten on
Saturday, good day."

Again he gave the abrupt foreign bow and, while Mildred was still
struggling with her surprise and confusion, she saw him, through the
window, driving rapidly away. Mrs. Belloc came drifting through the
room; she had the habit of looking about whenever there were new
visitors, and in her it was not irritating because her interest was
innocent and sympathetic. Said Mildred:

"Did you see that man, Mrs. Belloc?"

"What an extraordinary nose he had," replied she.

"Yes, I noticed that," said Mildred. "But it was the only thing I did
notice. He is a singing teacher--Mr. Jennings."

"Eugene Jennings?"

"Yes, Eugene."

"He's the best known singing teacher in New York. He gets fifteen
dollars a half-hour."

"Then I simply can't take from him!" exclaimed Mildred, before she
thought. "That's frightful!"

"Isn't it, though?" echoed Mrs. Belloc. "I've heard his income is
fifty thousand a year, what with lessons and coaching and odds and
ends. There's a lot of them that do well, because so many fool women
with nothing to do cultivate their voices--when they can't sing a
little bit. But he tops them all. I don't see how ANY teacher can put
fifteen dollars of value into half an hour. But I suppose he does, or
he wouldn't get it. Still, his may be just another case of New York
nerve. This is the biggest bluff town in the world, I do believe.
Here, you can get away with anything, I don't care what it is, if only
you bluff hard enough."

As there was no reason for delay and many reasons against it, Mildred
went at once to the address on the card Jennings had left. She found
Mrs. Howell Brindley installed in a plain comfortable apartment in
Fifty-ninth Street, overlooking the park and high enough to make the
noise of the traffic endurable. A Swedish maid, prepossessingly white
and clean, ushered her into the little drawing-room, which was
furnished with more simplicity and individual taste than is usual
anywhere in New York, cursed of the mania for useless and tasteless
showiness. There were no