“But,” she said, with a swift motion of determination, “that is the first subject, and the one on which all others depend.”
At eight o’clock Roland was with her. He came with his most irresistible manner, came prepared to carry his own desires in an enthusiasm of that supreme selfishness which he chose to designate as “love for Denas.”
“You have only to learn how to manage that wonderful voice of yours, Denas,” he said, “and a steady flow of money will be the result. You must have read of the enormous sums singers receive, but we will be modest at first and suppose you only make a few hundreds a year. In the long run that will be nothing; and you will be a very rich woman.”
“You have often said such things to me, Roland. But perhaps you do not judge me severely enough. I must see a great teacher, and he will tell me the truth.”
“To be sure. And you must have lessons also.”
“And for these things there must be money.”
“Certainly. I have upward of five hundred pounds and you have one hundred at least.”
“I have nothing, Roland.”
“The money you told me of in St. Merryn’s Bank.”