"Do you really mean that you've given up?" cried he.
"It's no use to waste the money, Stanley. I've got the voice, and that's what deceived us all. But there's nothing BEHIND the voice. With a great singer the greatness is in what's behind the voice, not in the voice itself."
"I don't believe a word of it," cried he violently. "You've been discouraged by a little cold. Everybody has colds. Why, in this climate the colds are always getting the Metropolitan singers down."
"But they've got strong throats, and my throat's delicate."
"You must go to a better climate. You ought to be abroad, anyhow. That was part of my plan—for us to go abroad—" He stopped in confusion, reddened, went bravely on—"and you to study there and make your debut."
Mildred shook her head. "That's all over," said she. "I've got to change my plans entirely."
"You're a little depressed, that's all. For a minute you almost convinced me. What a turn you did give me! I forgot how your voice sounded the last time I heard it. No, you'd not be so calm, if you didn't know everything was all right."
Her eyes lit up with sly humor. "Perhaps I'm calm because I feel that my future's secure as your wife. What more could a woman ask?"
He forced an uncomfortable laugh. "Of course—of course," he said with a painful effort to be easy and jocose.
"I knew you'd marry me, even if I couldn't sing a note. I knew your belief in my career had nothing to do with it."