``If you'd kept me
worrying-- Still, I guess not. But it doesn't matter.
You can protest and urge all you please, quite safely.
I'm not going to marry you. Now let's talk business.''
``Let's talk marriage,'' said he. ``I want this thing
settled. You know you intend to marry me, Mildred.
Why not say so? Why keep me gasping on the hook?''
They heard the front door open, and the rustling of
skirts down the hall. Mildred called:
``Mrs. Brindley! Cyrilla!''
An instant and Cyrilla appeared in the doorway.
When she and Baird had shaken hands, Mildred said:
``Cyrilla, I want you to tell the exact, honest truth.
Is there any hope for a woman with a delicate throat to
make a grand-opera career?''
Cyrilla paled, looked pleadingly at Mildred.
``Tell him,'' commanded Mildred.
``Very little,'' said Mrs. Brindley. ``But--''
``Don't try to soften it,'' interrupted Mildred.
``The truth, the plain truth.''
``You've no right to draw me into this,'' cried Cyrilla
indignantly, and she started to leave the room.
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