"No, there's no hope."
She grew cold with despair. He had a way of saying a thing that gave it the full weight of a verdict from which there was no appeal.
"Now, if you wanted to make a living," he went on, "and if you were determined to learn to sing as well as you could, with the idea that you might be able to make a living—why, then there might be hope."
"You think I can sing?"
"I never heard you. Can you?"
"They say I can."
"What do YOU say?"
"I don't know," she confessed. "I've never been able to judge. Sometimes I think I'm singing well, and I find out afterward that I've sung badly. Again, it's the other way."
"Then, obviously, what's the first thing to do?"
"To learn to judge myself," said she. "I never thought of it before—how important that is. Do you know Jennings—Eugene Jennings?"