“What nonsense, Dorothy!”
“I’ve taken lessons for several months, and my singing doesn’t sound right. It’s weak, it’s——”
“Don’t be absurd! How can you expect any results after just a few weeks’ training? At the end of a year’s good, steady work you’ll have a right to consider results.”
“Really, I don’t think I’ll ever get results—this way.”
Mrs. Loamford looked at her sharply.
“What does that mean?”
“T’m afraid—I’m afraid I haven’t enough faith in Madame Schneider.”
Her mother glared at her as though she were ready to ignite her at the nearest convenient stake for this heresy.
“She’s most capable. Let us have no more of this. Study hard—and you will see that I am right.”
“But I can’t work with a person who doesn’t—who doesn’t inspire me.”
“That’s a foolish idea. You young people seem to go in heavily for ‘inspiration-—whatever that is. Hard work, Dorothy—that’s all you need. Just do what Madame Schneider says.”
“T haven’t anything against Madame Schneider. It’s just that she doesn’t make me want to sing. Something that ought to be there—isn’t.”
Mrs. Loamford pushed aside her sewing to show that she would settle this debate instantly.
“This is all very foolish and very hysterical of you, Dorothy, and I’m surprised. You have a God-given voice and your father and I are doing everything possible to give you an opportunity to develop it. Before you were born I prayed to God that there might be music in my daughter’s soul. God was very good to me. As a baby you showed your musical instincts. I am sorry now
that I permitted you to drop your piano playing. At
[44]
