``I've had no experience at all,'' said Mildred.

``That is why I'm hesitating.I'm wondering if I can afford to pay so much.''

Mrs.Brindley laughed.``Mr.Jennings wished to fix it at sixty a week, but I insisted that forty was enough,'' said she.

Mildred colored high with embarrassment.How much did Mrs.Brindley know?--or how little? She stammered: ``Well, if Mr.Jennings says it is all right, I'll come.''

``You'll let me know to-morrow? You can telephone Mr.Jennings.''

``Yes, I'll let you know to-morrow.I'm almost sure I'll come.In fact, I'm quite sure.And--I think we shall get on well together.''

``We can help each other,'' said Mrs.Brindley.``Idon't care for anything in the world but music.''

``I want to be that way,'' said Mildred.``I shall be that way.''

``It's the only sure happiness--to care for something, for some THING,'' said Mrs.Brindley.``People die, or disappoint one, or become estranged.But when one centers on some kind of work, it gives pleasure always--more and more pleasure.''

``I am so afraid I haven't voice enough, or of the right kind,'' said Mildred.``Mr.Jennings is going to try me on Saturday.Really I've no right to settle anything until he has given his opinion.''

Mrs.Brindley smiled with her eyes only, and Mildred wondered.

``If he should say that I wouldn't do,'' she went on, ``I'd not know which way to turn.''

``But he'll not say that,'' said Mrs.Brindley.``You can sing, can't you? You have sung?''

``Oh, yes.''

``Then you'll be accepted by him.And it will take him a long time to find out whether you'll do for a professional.''

``I'm afraid I sing very badly.''

``That will not matter.You'll sing better than at least half of Jennings's pupils.''

``Then he doesn't take only those worth while?''

Mrs.Brindley looked amused.``How would he live if he did that? It's a teacher's business to teach.

Learning--that's the pupil's lookout.If teachers taught only those who could and would learn, how would they live?''

``Then I'll not know whether I'll do!'' exclaimed Mildred.

``You'll have to find out for yourself,'' said Mrs.

Brindley.``No one can tell you.Anyone's opinion might be wrong.For example, I've known Jennings, who is a very good judge, to be wrong--both ways.''

Hesitatingly: ``Why not sing for me? I'd like to hear.''

``Would you tell me what you honestly thought?''

said Mildred.

Mrs.Brindley laughingly shook her head.

Mildred liked her honesty.``Then it'd be useless to sing for you,'' said she.``I'm not vain about my voice.

I'd simply like to make a living by it, if I could.I'll even confess that there are many things I care for more than for music.Does that prove that I can never sing professionally?''

``No, indeed,'' Mrs.Brindley assured her.``It'd be strange if a girl of your age cared exclusively for music.The passion comes with the work, with progress, success.And some of the greatest--that is, the most famous and best paid--singers never care much about music, except as a vanity, and never understand it.Asinger means a person born with a certain shape of mouth and throat, a certain kind of vocal chords.The rest may be natural or acquired.It's the instrument that makes the singer, not brains or temperament.''

``Do let me sing for you,'' said Mildred.``I think it will help me.''

Between them they chose a little French song--``Chanson d'Antonine''--and Mrs.Brindley insisted on her playing her own accompaniment.``I wish to listen,'' said she, ``and I can't if I play.''