the price she paid-第30章

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‘‘You　reproach　me　for　not　having　helped　you；''　he　went　on。　　‘‘How　does　it　happen　that　you　are　uneasy　in　mindso　uneasy　that　you　are　quarreling　at　me？''

A　light　broke　upon　her。　　‘‘You　have　been　drawing　me　on；　from　the　beginning；''　she　cried。　　‘‘You　have　been　helping　memaking　me　see　that　I　needed　help。''

‘‘No；''　said　he。　　‘‘I've　been　waiting　to　see　whether　you　would　rouse　from　your　dream　of　grandeur。''

‘‘YOU　have　been　rousing　me。''

‘‘No；''　he　said。　　‘‘You've　roused　yourself。　　So　you　may　be　worth　helping　or；　rather；　worth　encouraging；　for　no　one　can　HELP　you　but　yourself。''

She　looked　at　him　pathetically。　　‘‘But　what　shall　I　do？''　she　asked。　　‘‘I've　got　no　money；　no　experience；　no　sense。　　I'm　a　vain；　luxury…loving　fool；　cursed　with　awith　ais　it　a　conscience？''

‘‘I　hope　it's　something　more　substantial。　　I　hope　it's　common　sense。''

‘‘But　I　have　been　workinghonestly　I　have。''

‘‘Don't　begin　lying　to　yourself　again。''

‘‘Don't　be　harsh　with　me。''

He　drew　in　his　legs；　in　preparation　for　risingno　doubt　to　go　away。

‘‘I　don't　mean　that；''　she　cried　testily。　　‘‘You　are　not　harsh　with　me。　　It's　the　truth　that's　harshthe　truth　I'm　beginning　to　seeand　feel。　　I　am　afraid　afraid。　　I　haven't　the　courage　to　face　it。''

‘‘Why　whine？''　said　he。　　‘‘There's　nothing　in　that。''

‘‘Do　you　think　there's　any　hope　for　me？''

‘‘That　depends；''　said　he。

‘‘On　what？''

‘‘On　what　you　want。''

‘‘I　want　to　be　a　singer；　a　great　singer。''

‘‘No；　there's　no　hope。''

She　grew　cold　with　despair。　　He　had　a　way　of　saying　a　thing　that　gave　it　the　full　weight　of　a　verdict　from　which　there　was　no　appeal。

‘‘Now；　if　you　wanted　to　make　a　living；''　he　went　on；　‘‘and　if　you　were　determined　to　learn　to　sing　as　well　as　you　could；　with　the　idea　that　you　might　be　able　to　make　a　livingwhy；　then　there　might　be　hope。''

‘‘You　think　I　can　sing？''

‘‘I　never　heard　you。　　Can　you？''

‘‘They　say　I　can。''

‘‘What　do　YOU　say？''

‘‘I　don't　know；''　she　confessed。　　‘‘I've　never　been　able　to　judge。　　Sometimes　I　think　I'm　singing　well；　and　I　find　out　afterward　that　I've　sung　badly。　　Again；　it's　the　other　way。''

‘‘Then；　obviously；　what's　the　first　thing　to　do？''

‘‘To　learn　to　judge　myself；''　said　she。　　‘‘I　never　thought　of　it　beforehow　important　that　is。　　Do　you　know　JenningsEugene　Jennings？''

‘‘The　singing　teacher？　　No。''

‘‘Is　he　a　good　teacher？''

‘‘No。''

‘‘Why　not？''

‘‘Because　he　has　not　taught　you　that　you　will　never　sing　until　you　are　your　own　teacher。　　Because　he　has　not　taught　you　that　singing　is　a　small　and　minor　part　of　a　career　as　a　singer。''

‘‘But　it　isn't；''　protested　she。

A　long　silence。　　Looking　at　him；　she　felt　that　he　had　dismissed　her　and　her　affairs　from　his　mind。

‘‘Is　it？''　she　said；　to　bring　him　back。

‘‘What？''　asked　he　vaguely。

‘‘You　said　that　a　singer　didn't　have　to　be　able　to　sing。''

‘‘Did　I？''　　He　glanced　down　the　shore　toward　the　house。　　‘‘It　feels　like　lunch…time。''　　He　rose。

‘‘What　did　you　mean　by　what　you　said？''

‘‘When　you　have　thought　about　your　case　a　while　longer；　we'll　talk　of　it　againif　you　wish。　　But　until　you've　thought；　talking　is　a　waste　of　time。''

She　rose；　stood　staring　out　to　sea。　　He　was　observing　her；　a　faint　smile　about　his　lips。　　He　said：

‘‘Why　bother　about　a　career？　　After　all；　kept　woman　is　a　thoroughly　respectable　occupationor　can　be　made　so　by　any　preacher　or　justice　of　the　peace。　It's　followed　by　many　of　our　best　womenthose　who　pride　themselves　on　their　high　charactersand　on　their　pride。''

‘‘I　could　not　belong　to　a　man　unless　I　cared　for　him；''　said　she。　　‘‘I　tried　it　once。　　I　shall　never　do　it　again。''

‘‘That　sounds　fine；''　said　he。　　‘‘Let's　go　to　lunch。''

‘‘You　don't　believe　me？''

‘‘Do　you？''

She　sank　down　upon　the　sand　and　burst　into　a　wild　passion　of　sobs　and　tears。　　When　her　fight　for　self…　control　was　over　and　she　looked　up　to　apologize　for　her　pitiful　exhibition　of　weaknessand　to　note　whether　she　had　made　an　impression　upon　his　sympathiesshe　saw　him　just　entering　the　house；　a　quarter　of　a　mile　away。　　To　anger　succeeded　a　mood　of　desperate　forlornness。　　She　fell　upon　herself　with　gloomy　ferocity。　She　could　not　sing。　　She　had　no　brains。　　She　was　taking　moneya　disgracefully　large　amount　of　money　from　Stanley　Baird　under　false　pretenses。　　How　could　she　hope　to　sing　when　her　voice　could　not　be　relied　upon？　Was　not　her　throat　at　that　very　moment　slightly　sore？　Was　it　not　always　going　queer？　　Shesing！　　Absurd。　Did　Stanley　Baird　suspect？　　Was　he　waiting　for　the　time　when　she　would　gladly　accept　what　she　must　have　from　him；　on　his　own　terms？　　No；　not　on　his　terms；　but　on　the　terms　she　herself　would　arrange　the　only　terms　she　could　make。　　No；　Stanley　believed　in　her　absolutelybelieved　in　her　career。　　When　he　discovered　the　truth；　he　would　lose　interest　in　her；　would　regard　her　as　a　poor；　worthless　creature；　would　be　eager　to　rid　himself　of　her。　　Instead　of　returning　to　the　house；　she　went　in　the　opposite　direction；　made　a　circuit　and　buried　herself　in　the　woods　beyond　the　Shrewsbury。　　She　was　mad　to　get　away　from　her　own　company；　but　the　only　company　she　could　fly　to　was　more　depressing　than　the　solitude　and　the　taunt　and　sneer　and　lash　of　her　own　thoughts。　　It　was　late　in　the　afternoon　before　she　nerved　herself　to　go　home。　　She　hoped　the　others　would　have　gone　off　somewhere；　but　they　were　waiting　for　her；　Stanley　anxious　and　Cyrilla　Brindley　irritated。　　Her　eyes　sought　Keith。　　He　was；　as　usual；　the　indifferent　spectator。

‘‘Where　have　you　been？''　cried　Stanley。

‘‘Making　up　my　mind；''　said　she　in　the　tone　that　forewarns　of　a　storm。

A　brief　pause。　　She　struggled　in　vain　against　an　impulse　to　look　at　Keith。　　When　her　eyes　turned　in　his　direction　he；　not　looking　at　her；　moved　in　his　listless　way　toward　the　door。　　Said　he：

‘‘The　auto's　waiting。　　Come　on。''

She　vacillated；　yielded；　began　to　put　on　the　wraps　Stanley　was　collecting　for　her。　　It　was　a　big　touring…　car；　and　they　sat　two　and　two；　with　the　chauffeur　alone。　Keith　was　beside　Mildred。　　When　they　were　under　way；　she　said：

‘‘Why　did　you　stop　me？　　Perhaps　I'll　never　have　the　courage　again。''

‘‘Courage　for　what？''　asked　he。

‘‘To　take　your　advice；　and　break　off。''

‘‘MY　advice？''

‘‘Yes；　your　advice。''

‘‘You　have　to　clutch　at　and　cling　to　somebody；　don't　you？　　You　can't　bear　the　idea　of　standing　up　by　your　own　strength。''

‘‘You　think　I'm　trying　to　fasten　to　you？''　she　said；　with　an　angry　laugh。

‘‘I　know　it。　　You　admitted　it。　　You　are　not　satisfied　with　the　way　things　are　going。　　You　have　doubts　about　your　career。　　You　shrink　from　your　only　comfortable　alternative；　if　the　career　winks　out。　　You　ask　me　my　opinion　about　yourself　and　about　careers。　　I　give　it。　Now；　I　find　you　asked　only　that　you　might　have　someone　to　lean　on；　to　accuse　of　having　got　you　into　a　mess；　if　doing　what　you　think　you　ought　to　do　turns　out　as　badly　as　you　fear。''

It　was　the　longest　speech　she　had　heard　him　make。　She　had　no　inclination　to　dispute　his　analysis　of　her　motives。　　‘‘I　did　not　realize　it；''　said　she；　‘‘but　that　is　probably　so。　　Butremember　how　I　was　brought　up。''

‘‘There's　only　one　thing　for　you　to　do。''

‘‘Go　back　to　my　husband？　　You　knowabout　me　don't　you？''

‘‘Yes''

‘‘I　can't　go　back　to　him。''

‘‘No。''

‘‘Thenwhat？''　she　asked。

‘‘Go　on；　as　now；''　replied　he。

‘‘You　despise　me；　don't　you？''

‘‘No。''

‘‘But　you　said　you　did。''

‘‘Dislike　and　despise　are　not　at　all　the　same。''

‘‘You　admit　that　you　dislike　me；''　cried　she　triumphantly。　He　did　not　answer。

‘‘You　think　me　a　weak；　clinging　creature；　not　able　to　do　anything　but　make　pretenses。''

No　answer。

‘‘Don't　you？''　she　persisted。

‘‘Probably　I　have　about　the　same　opinion　of　you　that　you　have　of　yourself。''

‘‘What　WILL　become　of　me？''　she　said。　　Her　face　lighted　up　with　an　expression　of　reckless　beauty。　　‘‘If　I　could　only　get　started　I'd　go　to　the　devil；　laughing　and　dancingand　taking　a　train　with　me。''

‘‘You　ARE　started；''　said　he；　with　an　amiable　smile。　‘‘Keep　on。　　But　I　doubt　if　you'll　be　so　well　amused　as　you　may　imagine。　　Going　to　the　devil　isn't　as　it's　painted　in　novels　by　homely　old　maids　and　by　men　too　timid　to　go　out　of　nights。　　A　few　steps　farther；　and　your　disillusionment　will　begin。　　But　there'll　be　no　turning　back。　　Already；　you　are　almost　too　old　to　make　a　career。''

‘‘I'm　only　twenty…four。　　I　flattered　myself　I　looked　still　younger。''

‘‘It's　worse　than　I　thought；''　said　he。　　‘‘Most　of　the　singers；　even　the　second…rate　ones；　began　at　fifteen　began　seriously。　　And　you　haven't　begun　yet。''

‘‘That's　unjust；''　she　protested。　　‘‘I've　done　a　little。　Many　great　people　would　think　it　a　great　deal。''

‘‘You　haven't　begun　yet；''　repeated　he　calmly。　　‘‘You　have　spent　a　lot　of　money；　and　have　done　a　lot　of　dreaming　and　talking　and　listening　to　compliments；　and　have　taken　a　lot　of　lessons　of　an　expensive　charlatan。　　But　what　have　those　things　to　do　with　a　career？''

‘‘You've　never　heard　me　sing。''

‘‘I　do　not　care　for　singing。''

‘‘Oh！''　said　she　in　a　tone　of　relief。　　‘‘Then　you　know　nothing　about　all　this。''

‘‘On　the　contrary；　I　know　everything　about　a　career。　And　we　were　talking　of　careers；　not　of　singing。''

‘‘You　mean　that　my　voice　is　worthless　because　I　haven't　the　other　elements？''

‘‘What　else　could　I　have　meant？''　said　he。　　‘‘You　haven't　the　strength。　　You　haven't　the　health。''

She　laughed　as　she　straightened　herself。　　‘‘Do　I　look　weak　and　sickly？''　cried　she。

‘‘For　the　purposes　of　a　career　as　a　female　you　are　strong　and　well；''　said　he。　　‘‘For　the　purpose　of　a　career　as　a　singer''　　He　smiled　and　shook　his　head。　‘‘A　singer　must　have　muscles　like　wire　ropes；　like　a　blacksmith　or　a　washerwoman。　　The　other　day　we　were　climbing　a　hilla　not　very　steep　hill。　　You　stopped　five　times　for　breath；　and　twice　you　sat　down　to　rest。''

She　was　literally　hanging　her　head　with　shame。　　‘‘I　wasn't　very　well　that　day；''　she　murmured。

‘‘Don't　deceive　yourself；''　said　he。　　‘‘Don't　indulge　in　the　fatal　folly　of　self…excuse。''

‘‘Go　on；''　she　said　humbly。　　‘‘I　want　to　hear　it　all。''

‘‘Is　your　throat　sore　to…day？''　pursued　he。

She　colored。　　‘‘It's　better；''　she　murmured。

‘‘A　singer　with　sore　throat！''　mocked　he。　　‘‘You've　had　a　slight　fogginess　of　the　voice　all　summer。''

‘‘It's　this　sea　air；''　she　eagerly　protested。　　‘‘It　affects　everyone。''

‘‘No　self…excuse；　please；''　interrupted　he。　　‘‘Cigarettes；　champagne；　all　kinds　of　foolish　food；　an　impaired　digestionthat's　the　truth；　and　you　know　it。''

‘‘I've　got　splendid　digestion！　　I　can　eat　anything！''　she　cried。　　‘‘Oh；　you　don't　know　the　first　thing　about　singing。　　You　don't　know　about　temperament；　about　art；　about　all　the　things　that　singing　really　means。''

‘‘We　were　talking　of　careers；''　said　he。　　‘‘A　career　means　a　person　who　can　be　relied　upon　to　do　what　is　demanded　of　him。　　A　singer's　career　means　a　powerful　body；　perfect　health；　a　sound　digestion。　　Without　them；　the　voice　will　not　be　reliable。　　What　you　need　is　not　singing　teachers；　but　teachers　of　athletics　and　of　hygiene。　To　hear　you　talk　about　a　career　is　like　listening　to　a　child。　　You　think　you　can　become　a　professional　singer　by　paying　money　to　a　teacher。　　There　are　lawyers　and　doctors　and　business　men　in　all　lines　who　think　that　way　a