gress rapidly. In a few weeks she
amazed herself. At last she was really singing. Not in a great way,
but in the beginnings of a great way. Her voice had many times the
power of her drawing-room days. Her notes were full and round, and
came without an effort. Her former ideas of what constituted facial
and vocal expression now seemed ridiculous to her. She was now singing
without making those dreadful faces which she had once thought charming
and necessary. Her lower register, always her best, was almost
perfect. Her middle register--the test part of a voice--was showing
signs of strength and steadiness and evenness. And she was fast
getting a real upper register, as distinguished from the forced and
shrieky high notes that pass as an upper register with most singers,
even opera singers. After a month of this marvelous forward march, she
sang for Mrs. Brindley--sang the same song she had essayed at their
first meeting. When she finished, Mrs. Brindley said:

"Yes, you've done wonders. I've been noticing your improvement as you
practiced. You certainly have a very different voice and method from
those you had a month ago," and so on through about five minutes of
critical and discriminating praise.

Mildred listened, wondering why her dissatisfaction, her irritation,
increased as Mrs. Brindley praised on and on. Beyond question Cyrilla
was sincere, and was saying even more than Mildred had hoped she would
say. Yet-- Mildred sat moodily measuring off octaves on the keyboard
of the piano. If she had been looking at her friend's face she would
have flared out in anger; for Cyrilla Brindley was taking advantage of
her abstraction to observe her with friendly sympathy and sadness.
Presently she concealed this candid expression and said:

"You are satisfied with your progress, aren't you, Miss Stevens?"

Mildred flared up angrily. "Certainly!" replied she. "How could I
fail to be?"

Mrs. Brindley did not answer--perhaps because she thought no answer was
needed or expected. But to Mildred her silence somehow seemed a denial.

"If you can only keep what you've got--and go on," said Mrs. Brindley.

"Oh, I shall, never fear," retorted Mildred.

"But I do fear," said Mrs. Brindley. "I think it's always well to fear
until success is actually won. And then there's the awful fear of not
being able to hold it."

After a moment's silence Mildred, who could not hide away resentment
against one she liked, sa