AT Mrs.Belloc's a telephone message from Jennings was awaiting her; he would call at a quarter-past eight and would detain Miss Stevens only a moment.And at eight fifteen exactly he rang the bell.This time Mildred was prepared; she refused to be disconcerted by his abrupt manner and by his long sharp nose that seemed to warn away, to threaten away, even to thrust away any glance seeking to investigate the rest of his face or his personality.She looked at him candidly, calmly, and seeingly.Seeingly.With eyes that saw as they had never seen before.Perhaps from the death of her father, certainly from the beginning of Siddall's courtship, Mildred had been waking up.There is a part of our nature--the active and aggressive part--that sleeps all our lives long or becomes atrophied if we lead lives of ease and secure dependence.It is the important part of us, too--the part that determines character.The thing that completed the awakening of Mildred was her acquaintance with Mrs.Belloc.
That positive and finely-poised lady fascinated her, influenced her powerfully--gave her just what she needed at the particular moment.The vital moments in life are not the crises over which shallow people linger, but are the moments where we met and absorbed the ideas that enabled us to weather these crises.The acquaintance with Mrs.Belloc was one of those vital moments; for, Mrs.Belloc's personality--her look and manner, what she said and the way she said it--was a proffer to Mildred of invaluable lessons which her awakening character eagerly absorbed.She saw Jennings as he was.She decided that he was of common origin, that his vanity was colossal and aquiver throughout with sensitiveness; that he belonged to the familiar type of New-Yorker who succeeds by bluffing.Also, she saw or felt a certain sexlessness or indifference to sex--and this she later understood.Men whose occupation compels them constantly to deal with women go to one extreme or the other--either become acutely sensitive to women as women or become utterly indifferent, unless their highly discriminated taste is appealed to--which cannot happen often.Jennings, teaching only women because only women spending money they had not earned and could not earn would tolerate his terms and his methods, had, as much through necessity as through inclination, gone to the extreme of lack of interest in all matters of sex.One look at him and the woman who had come with the idea of offering herself in full or part payment for lessons drooped in instinctive discouragement.
Jennings hastened to explain to Mildred that she need not hesitate about closing with Mrs.Brindley.``Your lessons are arranged for,'' said he.``There has been put in the Plaza Trust Company to your credit the sum of five thousand dollars.This gives you about a hundred dollars a week for your board and other personal expenses.If that is not enough, you will let me know.
But I estimated that it would be enough.I do not think it wise for young women entering upon the preparation for a serious career to have too much money.''
``It is more than enough,'' murmured the girl.``Iknow nothing about those things, but it seems to me--''
``You can use as little of it as you like,'' interrupted Jennings, rising.
Mildred felt as though she had been caught and exposed in a hypocritical protest.Jennings was holding out something toward her.She took it, and he went on:
``That's your check-book.The bank will send you statements of your account, and will notify you when any further sums are added.Now, I have nothing more to do with your affairs--except, of course, the artistic side--your development as a singer.You've not forgotten your appointment?''
``No,'' said Mildred, like a primary school-child before a formidable teacher.
``Be prompt, please.I make no reduction for lessons wholly or partly missed.The half-hour I shall assign to you belongs to you.If you do not use it, that is your affair.At first you will probably be like all women--careless about your appointments, coming with lessons unprepared, telephoning excuses.But if you are serious you will soon fall into the routine.''
``I shall try to be regular,'' murmured Mildred.
Jennings apparently did not hear.``I'm on my way to the opera-house,'' said he.``One of my old pupils is appearing in a new role, and she is nervous.Good night.''
Once more that swift, quiet exit, followed almost instantaneously by the sound of wheels rolling away.
Never had she seen such rapidity of motion without loss of dignity.``Yes, he's a fraud,'' she said to herself, ``but he's a good one.''
The idea of a career had now become less indefinite.
It was still without any attraction--not because of the toil it involved, for that made small impression upon her who had never worked and had never seen anyone work, but because a career meant cutting herself off from everything she had been brought up to regard as fit and proper for a lady.She was ashamed of this;she did not admit its existence even to herself, and in her talks with Baird about the career she had professed exactly the opposite view.Yet there it was--nor need she have been ashamed of a feeling that is instilled into women of her class from babyhood as part of their ladylike education.The career had not become definite.
She could not imagine herself out on a stage in some sort of a costume, with a painted face, singing before an audience.Still, the career was less indefinite than when it had no existence beyond Stanley Baird's enthusiasm and her own whipped-up pretense of enthusiasm.
She shrank from the actual start, but at the same time was eager for it.Inaction began to fret her nerves, and she wished to be doing something to show her appreciation of Stanley Baird's generosity.She telephoned Mrs.Brindley that she would come in the morning, and then she told her landlady.
