"Did you see that man, Mrs. Belloc?"
"What an extraordinary nose he had," replied she.
"Yes, I noticed that," said Mildred. "But it was the only thing I did notice. He is a singing teacher—Mr. Jennings."
"Eugene Jennings?"
"Yes, Eugene."
"He's the best known singing teacher in New York. He gets fifteen dollars a half-hour."
"Then I simply can't take from him!" exclaimed Mildred, before she thought. "That's frightful!"
"Isn't it, though?" echoed Mrs. Belloc. "I've heard his income is fifty thousand a year, what with lessons and coaching and odds and ends. There's a lot of them that do well, because so many fool women with nothing to do cultivate their voices—when they can't sing a little bit. But he tops them all. I don't see how ANY teacher can put fifteen dollars of value into half an hour. But I suppose he does, or he wouldn't get it. Still, his may be just another case of New York nerve. This is the biggest bluff town in the world, I do believe. Here, you can get away with anything, I don't care what it is, if only you bluff hard enough."
As there was no reason for delay and many reasons against it, Mildred went at once to the address on the card Jennings had left. She found Mrs. Howell Brindley installed in a plain comfortable apartment in Fifty-ninth Street, overlooking the park and high enough to make the noise of the traffic endurable. A Swedish maid, prepossessingly white and clean, ushered her into the little drawing-room, which was furnished with more simplicity and individual taste than is usual anywhere in New York, cursed of the mania for useless and tasteless showiness. There were no messy draperies, no fussy statuettes, vases, gilt boxes, and the like. Mildred awaited the entrance of Mrs. Brindley hopefully.
She was not disappointed. Presently in came a quietly-dressed, frank-looking woman of a young forty—a woman who had by no means lost her physical freshness, but had gained charm of another and more enduring kind. As she came forward with extended but not overeager hand, she said: