Dorothy reflected that there hadn’t been much tea dancing, supper dancing, dinner dancing, breakfast dancing or other meal-time calisthenics since her entry into the home of serious students only.
Life at St. Cecilia, however, was satisfactory enough. The bright promises of the brochure were fulfilled-except that Dorothy had had no contact with the brilliant Michel Soedlich. Soedlich, it appeared, was a visiting lecturer on the lives of famous composers. And as a speaker he was decidedly dull. He was not nearly so fascinating as the young music critic who spoke every two weeks on the theory of aesthetics. Soedlich apparently had memorized a popular pocket dictionary of musicians. He stood awkwardly beside a table and droned out facts in a colorless, almost inaudible voice. He halted frequently to refer to stacks of yellow notes. On warm afternoons, his naturally florid countenance would become glowingly carmine. His baggy clothes hung clumsily about his tall, somewhat adipose figure.
"The kid's got pash lips," Rose whispered to Dorothy while Soedlich was explaining that Mendelsshohn took great interest in his sister's work. But in spite of this flattering reference to Soedlich's powers, Dorothy wondered why he had acquired so great a reputation as a coach and a lover. His attractions were few, so far as she could see. She could hardly imagine him as an inspiring preceptor. Yet it was gossiped that Soedlich had prepared almost every Metropolitan star for important roles and that few eminent recital singers failed to coach with him several times weekly.
A few days before the graduating exercises, Dorothy came home to find the parlor crowded with her mother's friends.
"We expect big things of Dorothy," she heard her
[75]
