ity. She also went to see a well-known teacher of music and got his
opinion of her voice.

"Your voice needs nearly everything to be done for it that can be done
to a voice," the professor frankly told her, "but you _have_ a voice,
beyond doubt. You have feeling, too, almost too much of it; it is
feeling uncontrolled, perhaps not understood.

"If you are willing to give years to it you will be a singer."

The man thought that he was killing hope in the girl before him, but to
his surprise she raised her eyes seriously to him and said:

"I am a working girl, but I am saving for the chance of doing what you
suggest. I will begin next winter. I think I know that I shall never be
great, but I believe I will sing some day."

The man bowed her out with deep respect.

When Joan told of her interview Sylvia was delighted, and Patricia, who
had happened in for a cup of tea, looked relieved.

"Of course you'll sing, Joan," she said, enthusiastically, "and if you
don't turn your talent to account you'll bring the wrath of God down
upon you. That Brier Bush is well enough to start you--but you're pretty
well through with it, I fancy."

Patricia was arraigning herself with Sylvia for reasons best known to
herself. She had the air of a very discreet young woman.

Long did Joan lie awake that night on her narrow bed. She had raised the
shade, and the stars were splendid in the blue-black sky.

She was happier, sadder, than she had ever been in her life before--more
confused.

She wanted Doris and Nancy and the shelter and care; she wanted her own
broad path and the thrill that her own sense of power gave her. She
wanted to cling close to Sylvia; she was afraid of Patricia but felt the
girl's influence in her deepest depths.

In short, Joan was waking to the meaning of life, and it had taken very
little to awaken her, for her time had come.

Three days later Kenneth Raymond ate his luncheon at the Brier Bush and
spoke no word to Joan. The following day he nodded to her, and the day
after that he said, in a low voice as she passed:

"I want to have you read my palm again."

"Once is enough," Joan replied.

"I have forgotten what you said," Raymond broke in; "besides, I have
another reason. You've set me on a line of thought--you've got to clear
the track."

"Oh, very well." And Joan sat down and took the broad hand in hers.

"I've read a lot of stuff since I saw you first," Raymond began. "There
is something in thi