“That’s just what I wanted to discuss with you,” said Kenrick.
“But wait a moment,” Nancy interrupted. “I have a little girl.”
“What has that got to do with training your voice?”
“Why, this. Every penny that I can save I am saving for her. She is in a convent now, and when she leaves school in another twelve years I want her to have a voice and be able to afford to pay for its training. I want her to have everything that I lacked. I would be wrong to spend the money I have saved in building castles in Spain for myself.”
“But, my dear woman, if in another twelve years you are an operatic star of some magnitude you’ll be able to do much more for your daughter than you could with what you’ll save as a provincial actress between now and then. But forgive me; you speak of a little girl. You have a husband then?”
“My husband is dead. He died nearly four years ago.”
Kenrick nodded slowly.
“And—forgive my bluntness—you have no other entanglements?”
She flushed.
“My marriage was never an entanglement ... and if you mean ‘am I in love with anybody now?’ why, no, I could never love anybody again.”