worked with enthusiasm, with
hope, presently with confidence. She hoped every day that Keith would
come; she would make him listen to her, force him to admit. She caught
a slight cold, neglected it, tried to sing it away. Her voice left her
abruptly. She went to Jennings as usual the day she found herself able
to do nothing more musical than squeak. She told him her plight. Said
he:

"Begin! Let's hear."

She made a few dismal attempts, stopped short, and, half laughing, half
ashamed, faced him for the lecture she knew would be forthcoming. Now,
it so happened that Jennings was in a frightful humor that day--one of
those humors in which the most prudent lose their self-control. He had
been listening to a succession of new pupils--women with money and no
voice, women who screeched and screamed and thoroughly enjoyed
themselves and angled confidently for compliments. As Jennings had an
acute musical ear, his sufferings had been frightful. He was used to
these torments, had the habit of turning the fury into which they put
him into excellent financial or disciplinary account. But on this
particular day his nerves went to pieces, and it was with Mildred that
the explosion came. When she looked at him, she was horrified to see a
face distorted and discolored by sheer rage.

"You fool!" he shouted, storming up and down. "You fool! You can't
sing! Keith was right. You wouldn't do even for a church choir. You
can't be relied on. There's nothing behind your voice--no strength, no
endurance, no brains. No brains! Do you hear?--no brains, I say!"

Mildred was terrified. She had seen him in tantrums before, but always
there had been a judicious reserving of part of the truth. Instead of
resenting, instead of flashing eye or quivering lips, Mildred sat down
and with white face and dazed eyes stared straight before her. Jennings
raved and roared himself out. As he came to his senses from this
debauch of truth-telling his first thought was how expensive it might
be. Thus, long before there was any outward sign that the storm had
passed, the ravings, the insults were shrewdly tempered with
qualifyings. If she kept on catching these colds, if she did not obey
his instructions, she might put off her debut for years--for three
years, for two years at least. And she would always be rowing with
managers and irritating the public--and so on and on. But the mischief
had been done. The girl did not rouse.

"No