The Price She Paid Part 37

"To-morrow," replied he, ignoring her hand.

"No. My money is all gone. Besides, I have no time for amateur trifling."

"Your lessons are paid for until the end of the month. This is only the nineteenth."

"Then you are so much in." Again she put out her hand.

He took it. "You owe me an explanation."

She smiled mockingly. "As a friend of mine says, don't ask questions to which you already know the answer."

And she departed, the smile still on her charming face, but the new seriousness beneath it. As she had antic.i.p.ated, she found Stanley Baird waiting for her in the drawing-room of the apartment. Being by habit much interested in his own emotions and not at all in the emotions of others, he saw only the healthful radiance the sharp October air had put into her cheeks and eyes. Certainly, to look at Mildred Gower was to get no impression of lack of health and strength.

Her glance wavered a little at sight of him, then the expression of firmness came back.

"You look like that picture you gave me a long time ago," said he. "Do you remember it?"

She did not.

"It has a--different expression," he went on. "I don't think I'd have noticed it but for Keith. I happened to show it to him one day, and he stared at it in that way he has--you know?"

"Yes, I know," said Mildred. She was seeing those uncanny, brilliant, penetrating eyes, in such startling contrast to the calm, lifeless coloring and cla.s.sic chiseling of features.

"And after a while he said, 'So, THAT'S Miss Stevens!' And I asked him what he meant, and he took one of your later photos and put the two side by side. To my notion the later was a lot the more attractive, for the face was rounder and softer and didn't have a certain kind of--well, hardness, as if you had a will and could ride rough shod. Not that you look so frightfully unattractive."

"I remember the picture," interrupted Mildred. "It was taken when I was twenty--just after an illness."

"The face WAS thin," said Stanley. "Keith called it a 'give away.'"

"I'd like to see it," said Mildred.

"I'll try to find it. But I'm afraid I can't. I haven't seen it since I showed it to Keith, and when I hunted for it the other day, it didn't turn up. I've changed valets several times in the last six months--"

But Mildred had ceased listening. Keith had seen the picture, had called it a "give away," had been interested in it--and the picture had disappeared. She laughed at her own folly, yet she was glad Stanley had given her this chance to make up a silly day-dream. She waited until he had exhausted himself on the subject of valets, their drunkenness, their thievish habits, their incompetence, then she said:

"I took my last lesson from Jennings to-day."

"What's the matter? Do you want to change? You didn't say anything about it? Isn't he good?"

"Good enough. But I've discovered that my voice isn't reliable, and unless one has a reliable voice there's no chance for a grand-opera career--or for comic opera, either."

Stanley was straightway all agitation and protest. "Who put that notion in your head? There's nothing in it, Mildred. Jennings is crazy about your voice, and he knows."

"Jennings is after the money," replied Mildred. "What I'm saying is the truth. Stanley, our beautiful dream of a career has winked out."

His expression was most revealing.

"And," she went on, "I'm not going to take any more of your money--and, of course, I'll pay back what I've borrowed when I can"--she smiled--"which may not be very soon."

"What's all this about, anyhow?" demanded he. "I don't see any sign of it in your face. You wouldn't take it so coolly if it were so."

"I don't understand why I'm not wringing my hands and weeping," replied she. "Every few minutes I tell myself that I ought to be. But I stay quite calm. I suppose I'm--sort of stupefied."

"Do you really mean that you've given up?" cried he.

"It's no use to waste the money, Stanley. I've got the voice, and that's what deceived us all. But there's nothing BEHIND the voice.

With a great singer the greatness is in what's behind the voice, not in the voice itself."

"I don't believe a word of it," cried he violently. "You've been discouraged by a little cold. Everybody has colds. Why, in this climate the colds are always getting the Metropolitan singers down."

"But they've got strong throats, and my throat's delicate."

"You must go to a better climate. You ought to be abroad, anyhow. That was part of my plan--for us to go abroad--" He stopped in confusion, reddened, went bravely on--"and you to study there and make your debut."

Mildred shook her head. "That's all over," said she. "I've got to change my plans entirely."

"You're a little depressed, that's all. For a minute you almost convinced me. What a turn you did give me! I forgot how your voice sounded the last time I heard it. No, you'd not be so calm, if you didn't know everything was all right."

Her eyes lit up with sly humor. "Perhaps I'm calm because I feel that my future's secure as your wife. What more could a woman ask?"

He forced an uncomfortable laugh. "Of course--of course," he said with a painful effort to be easy and jocose.

"I knew you'd marry me, even if I couldn't sing a note. I knew your belief in my career had nothing to do with it."

He hesitated, blurted out the truth. "Speaking seriously, that isn't quite so," said he. "I've got my heart set on your making a great tear--and I know you'll do it."

"And if you knew I wouldn't, you'd not want to marry me?"

"I don't say that," protested he. "How can I say how I'd feel if you were different?"

She nodded. "That's sensible, and it's candid," she said. She laid her hand impulsively on his arm. "I DO like you, Stanley. You have got such a lot of good qualities. Don't worry. I'm not going to insist on your marrying me."

"You don't have to do that, Mildred," said he. "I'm staring, raving crazy about you, though I'm a d.a.m.n fool to let you know it."

"Yes, it is foolish," said she. "If you'd kept me worrying-- Still, I guess not. But it doesn't matter. You can protest and urge all you please, quite safely. I'm not going to marry you. Now let's talk business."

"Let's talk marriage," said he. "I want this thing settled. You know you intend to marry me, Mildred. Why not say so? Why keep me gasping on the hook?"

They heard the front door open, and the rustling of skirts down the hall. Mildred called:

"Mrs. Brindley! Cyrilla!"

An instant and Cyrilla appeared in the doorway. When she and Baird had shaken hands, Mildred said:

"Cyrilla, I want you to tell the exact, honest truth. Is there any hope for a woman with a delicate throat to make a grand-opera career?"

Cyrilla paled, looked pleadingly at Mildred.

"Tell him," commanded Mildred.