he pretended to believe, and had the habit
of saying that he was "weak and soft," was always being misled by his
good nature, he really believed himself an unerring judge of human
beings, and, as his success evidenced, he was not far wrong. Thus,
though convinced that Mildred was a "false alarm," his secret vanity
would not let him release his original idea. He had the tenacity that
is an important element in all successes; and tenacity become a fixed
habit has even been known to ruin in the end the very careers it has
made.

Said Mildred, in a manner which was astonishingly unemotional and
businesslike: "I've not come to tattle and to whine, Mr. Crossley.
I've hesitated about coming at all, partly because I've an instinct
it's useless, partly because what I have to say isn't easy."

Crossley's expression hardened. The old story!--excuses, excuses,
self-excuse--somebody else to blame.

"If it hadn't been for Mr. Ransdell--the trouble he took with me, the
coaching he gave me--I'd have been a ridiculous failure at the very
first rehearsal. But--it is to Mr. Ransdell that my failure is due."

"My dear Miss Gower," said Crossley, polite but cold, "I regret hearing
you say that. The fact is very different. Not until you had done
so--so unacceptably at several rehearsals that news of it reached me by
another way--not until I myself went to Mr. Ransdell about you did he
admit that there could be a possibility of a doubt of your succeeding.
I had to go to rehearsal myself and directly order him to restore Miss
Esmond and lay you off."

Mildred was not unprepared. She received this tranquilly. "Mr.
Ransdell is a very clever man," said she with perfect good humor. "I've
no hope of convincing you, but I must tell my side."

And clearly and simply, with no concealments through fear of disturbing
his high ideal of her ladylike delicacy, she told him the story. He
listened, seated well back in his tilted desk-chair, his gaze upon the
ceiling. When she finished he held his pose a moment, then got up and
paced the length of the office several times, his hands in his pockets.
He paused, looked keenly at her, a good-humored smile in those eyes of
his so fascinating to women because of their frank wavering of an
inconstancy it would indeed be a triumph to seize and hold. Said he:

"And your bad throat? Did Ransdell give you a germ?"

She colored. He had gone straight at the weak point.

"If you'd been able to sing,"