as music teacher in some girls' school; and even for that she would need influence, "pull." In short, she must recognise that in New York the competition was so keen, musicians were so numerous, and the average of ability was so high, that it was impossible for her to support herself as so many young women supported themselves in smaller cities. It would be easier for her among friends and relatives, in the circle of family acquaintances. "In fact," she said, "he told me to go home!"
"That's all right," Don replied doggedly. "That's what they always tell you."
"But what am I to do?"
"Stay here. Something will turn up. It's bound to."
She cried impatiently: "But something has to 'turn up' or I can't stay!"
"I know. That's the fix I was in. That's why I took what I'm doing now. So did Miss Morris. She had her singing and her music, like you."
"On the stage, you mean? You know mother wouldn't let me!"
"Well," he said wearily, "I don't see what your mother has to do with it—if she won't help you. It was the same way with my father. He tried to stop me."
She stared, fascinated, at this daring suggestion of revolt.
In the pause of silence he found himself tired of the whole discussion. The morning's walk had fatigued his body, and the strain of the morning's expectation
