If you had done it any less
well, it would have been folly for you to go on.''
``That is, what I've done doesn't amount to
anything? Mr. Jennings doesn't agree with you.''
``Doubtless he's right,'' said Mrs. Brindley. ``At
any rate, we all agree that you have shown that you
have a voice.''
She said this so simply and heartily that Mildred
could not but be mollified. Mrs. Brindley changed the
subject to the song Mildred had sung, and Mildred
stopped puzzling over the mystery of what she had
meant by her apparently enthusiastic words, which had
yet diffused a chill atmosphere of doubt.
She was doing her scales so well that she became
impatient of such ``tiresome child's play.'' And presently
Jennings gave her songs, and did not discourage
her when she talked of roles, of getting seriously at
what, after all, she intended to do. Then there came a
week of vile weather, and Mildred caught a cold. She
neglected it. Her voice left her. Her tonsils swelled.
She had a bad attack of ulcerated sore throat.
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