the Tracy part of it, as if it had
been something disgraceful which the exalted Comber family agreed to
overlook."

"And what did you say?"

"I? Oh, I told him that, of course, you would do as you pleased about
that, but that for my part I should urge you most strongly to do nothing
of the kind."

"And he?"

"He got four inches taller. What is so odd is that as long as I never
opposed my father's wishes, as long as I was the clock on the chimney
piece, I was terrified at him. The thought of opposing myself to him
made my knees quake. But the moment I began doing so, I found there was
nothing to be frightened at."

Sylvia got up and began walking up and down the long room.

"But what am I to do about it, Michael?" she asked. "Oh, I blush when
I think of a conversation I had with Hermann about you, just before
Christmas, when I knew you were going to propose to me. I said that I
could never give up my singing. Can you picture the self-importance of
that? Why, it doesn't seem to me to matter two straws whether I do
or not. Naturally, I don't want to earn my living by it any more, but
whether I sing or not doesn't matter. And even as the words are in my
mouth I try to imagine myself not singing any more, and I can't. It's
become part of me, and while I blush to think of what I said to Hermann,
I wonder whether it's not true."

She came and sat down by him again.

"I believe you have got enough artistic instinct to understand that,
Michael," she said, "and to know what a tremendous help it is to one's
art to be a professional, and to be judged seriously. I suppose that,
ideally, if one loves music as I do one ought to be able to do one's
very best, whether one is singing professionally or not, but it
is hardly possible. Why, the whole difference between amateurs and
professionals is that amateurs sing charmingly and professionals just
sing. Only they sing as well as they possibly can, not only because they
love it, but because if they don't they will be dropped on to, and if
they continue not singing their best, will lose their place which they
have so hardly won. I can see myself, perhaps, not singing at all,
literally never opening my lips in song again, but I can't see myself
coming down to the Drill Hall at Brixton, extremely beautifully
dressed, with rows of pearls, and arriving rather late, and just singing
charmingly. It's such a spur to know that serious musicians judge one's
performance by the highest po