out what she went through in developing a
hopelessly uncertain and far from strong voice into one which, while
not nearly so good as thousands of voices that are tried and cast
aside, yet sufficed, with her will and her concentration back of it, to
carry her to fame--and wealth.

That birdlike voice! So sweet and spontaneous, so true, so like the
bird that "sings of summer in full throated ease!" No wonder the
audience welcomed it with cheers on cheers. Greater voices they had
heard, but none more natural--and that was Moldini.

He came to her dressing-room at the intermission. He stretched out his
arms, but emotion overcame him, and he dropped to a chair and sobbed
and cried and laughed. She came and put her arms round him and kissed
him. She was almost calm. The GREAT fear had seized her--Can I keep
what I have won?

"I am a fool," cried Moldini. "I will agitate you."

"Don't be afraid of that," said she. "I am nervous, yes, horribly
nervous. But you have taught me so that I could sing, no matter what
was happening." It was true. And her body was like iron to the touch.

He looked at her, and though he knew her and had seen her train herself
and had helped in it, he marveled. "You are happy?" he said eagerly.
"Surely--yes, you MUST be happy."

"More than that," answered she. "You'll have to find another word than
happiness--something bigger and stronger and deeper."

"Now you can have your holiday," laughed he. "But"--with mock
sternness--"in moderation! He must be an incident only. With those
who win the high places, sex is an incident--a charming, necessary
incident, but only an incident. He must not spoil your career. If you
allowed that you would be like a mother who deserts her children for a
lover. He must not touch your career!"

Mildred, giving the last touches to her costume before the glass,
glanced merrily at Moldini by way of it. "If he did touch it," said
she, "how long do you think he would last with me?"

Moldini paused half-way in his nod of approval, was stricken with
silence and sadness. It would have been natural and proper for a man
thus to put sex beneath the career. It was necessary for anyone who
developed the strong character that compels success and holds it. But--
The Italian could not get away from tradition; woman was made for the
pleasure of one man, not for herself and the world.

"You don't like that, maestro?" said she, still observing him in the
glass.