"It's the only sure happiness—to care for something, for some THING," said Mrs. Brindley. "People die, or disappoint one, or become estranged. But when one centers on some kind of work, it gives pleasure always—more and more pleasure."
"I am so afraid I haven't voice enough, or of the right kind," said Mildred. "Mr. Jennings is going to try me on Saturday. Really I've no right to settle anything until he has given his opinion."
Mrs. Brindley smiled with her eyes only, and Mildred wondered.
"If he should say that I wouldn't do," she went on, "I'd not know which way to turn."
"But he'll not say that," said Mrs. Brindley. "You can sing, can't you? You have sung?"
"Oh, yes."
"Then you'll be accepted by him. And it will take him a long time to find out whether you'll do for a professional."
"I'm afraid I sing very badly."
"That will not matter. You'll sing better than at least half of Jennings's pupils."
"Then he doesn't take only those worth while?"