The Price She Paid [44]
I suppose you'd balk at that. I'll admit it isn't the life for a lady. But the same thing's true of whatever money can be made at. If I were you, I'd go back.''
``If I were myself, I'd go back,'' said Mildred. ``But I'm not myself.''
``You will be again, as soon as you face the situation.''
``No,'' said she slowly, ``no, I shall never be myself again.''
``But you could have everything a woman wants. Except, of course--perhaps-- But you never struck me as being especially sentimental.''
``Sentiment has nothing to do with it,'' rejoined she. ``Do you think I could get a place on the stage?''
``Oh, you'd have to study a while, I suppose.''
``But I can't afford that. If I could afford to study, I'd have my voice trained.''
Baird's face lighted up with enthusiasm. ``The very thing!'' he cried. ``You've got a voice, a grand-opera voice. I've heard lots of people say so, and it sounded that way to me. You must cultivate your voice.''
Mildred laughed. ``Don't talk nonsense. Even I know that's nonsense. The lessons alone would cost thousands of dollars. And how could I live for the four or five years?''
``You didn't let me finish,'' said Baird. ``I was going to say that when you get to New York you must go and have your voice passed on--by some impartial person. If that person says it's worth cultivating, why, I'm willing to back you--as a business proposition. I can afford to take the risk. So, you see, it's all perfectly simple.''
He had spoken rapidly, with a covert suggestion of fear lest she would rebuke him sharply for what she might regard as an impertinent offer. She surprised him by looking at him calmly, reflectively, and saying:
``Yes, you could afford it, couldn't you?''
``I'm sure I could. And it's the sort of thing that's done every day. Of course, no one'd know that we had made this little business arrangement. But that's easily managed. I'd be glad if you'd let me do it, Mildred. I'd like to feel that I was of some use in the world. And I'd like to do something for YOU.''
By way of exceedingly cautious experiment he ventured to put ever so slight an accent of tenderness upon the ``you.'' He observed her furtively but nervously. He could not get a hint of what was in her mind. She gazed out toward the rising and falling horizon line. Presently she said:
``I'll think about it.''
``You must let me do it, Mildred. It's the sensible thing--and you know me well enough to know that my friendship can be counted on.''
``I'll think about it,'' was all she would concede.
They discussed the singing career all that and the succeeding days--the possibilities, the hopes, the dangers-- but the hopes a great deal more than the dangers. He became more and more interested in her and in the project, as her beauty shone out with the tranquillizing sea and as her old charm of cleverness at saying things that amused him reasserted itself. She, dubious and lukewarm at first, soon was trying to curb her own excited optimism; but long before they sighted Sandy Hook she was merely pretending to hang back. He felt discouraged by her parting! ``If I decide to go on, I'll write you in a few days.'' But he need not have felt so. She had made up her mind to accept his offer. As for the complications involved in such curiously intimate relations with a man of his temperament, habits, and inclinations, she saw them very vaguely in- deed--refused to permit herself to see them any less vaguely. Time enough to deal with complications when and as they arose; why needlessly and foolishly annoy herself and hamper herself? Said she to herself, ``I must begin to be practical.''
IV
AT the pier Mildred sent her mother a telegram, giving the train by which she would arrive--that and nothing more. As she descended from the parlor-car there stood Mrs. Presbury upon the platform, face wreathed in the most joyous of welcoming smiles, not a surface trace of the curiosity and alarm storming within. After they had kissed and embraced with a genuine emotion which they
``If I were myself, I'd go back,'' said Mildred. ``But I'm not myself.''
``You will be again, as soon as you face the situation.''
``No,'' said she slowly, ``no, I shall never be myself again.''
``But you could have everything a woman wants. Except, of course--perhaps-- But you never struck me as being especially sentimental.''
``Sentiment has nothing to do with it,'' rejoined she. ``Do you think I could get a place on the stage?''
``Oh, you'd have to study a while, I suppose.''
``But I can't afford that. If I could afford to study, I'd have my voice trained.''
Baird's face lighted up with enthusiasm. ``The very thing!'' he cried. ``You've got a voice, a grand-opera voice. I've heard lots of people say so, and it sounded that way to me. You must cultivate your voice.''
Mildred laughed. ``Don't talk nonsense. Even I know that's nonsense. The lessons alone would cost thousands of dollars. And how could I live for the four or five years?''
``You didn't let me finish,'' said Baird. ``I was going to say that when you get to New York you must go and have your voice passed on--by some impartial person. If that person says it's worth cultivating, why, I'm willing to back you--as a business proposition. I can afford to take the risk. So, you see, it's all perfectly simple.''
He had spoken rapidly, with a covert suggestion of fear lest she would rebuke him sharply for what she might regard as an impertinent offer. She surprised him by looking at him calmly, reflectively, and saying:
``Yes, you could afford it, couldn't you?''
``I'm sure I could. And it's the sort of thing that's done every day. Of course, no one'd know that we had made this little business arrangement. But that's easily managed. I'd be glad if you'd let me do it, Mildred. I'd like to feel that I was of some use in the world. And I'd like to do something for YOU.''
By way of exceedingly cautious experiment he ventured to put ever so slight an accent of tenderness upon the ``you.'' He observed her furtively but nervously. He could not get a hint of what was in her mind. She gazed out toward the rising and falling horizon line. Presently she said:
``I'll think about it.''
``You must let me do it, Mildred. It's the sensible thing--and you know me well enough to know that my friendship can be counted on.''
``I'll think about it,'' was all she would concede.
They discussed the singing career all that and the succeeding days--the possibilities, the hopes, the dangers-- but the hopes a great deal more than the dangers. He became more and more interested in her and in the project, as her beauty shone out with the tranquillizing sea and as her old charm of cleverness at saying things that amused him reasserted itself. She, dubious and lukewarm at first, soon was trying to curb her own excited optimism; but long before they sighted Sandy Hook she was merely pretending to hang back. He felt discouraged by her parting! ``If I decide to go on, I'll write you in a few days.'' But he need not have felt so. She had made up her mind to accept his offer. As for the complications involved in such curiously intimate relations with a man of his temperament, habits, and inclinations, she saw them very vaguely in- deed--refused to permit herself to see them any less vaguely. Time enough to deal with complications when and as they arose; why needlessly and foolishly annoy herself and hamper herself? Said she to herself, ``I must begin to be practical.''
IV
AT the pier Mildred sent her mother a telegram, giving the train by which she would arrive--that and nothing more. As she descended from the parlor-car there stood Mrs. Presbury upon the platform, face wreathed in the most joyous of welcoming smiles, not a surface trace of the curiosity and alarm storming within. After they had kissed and embraced with a genuine emotion which they