"Then I am sorry to tell you, my dear young lady, that it is impossible."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Juliet, stung by the word. "Why, you have always told me I could do anything with my voice."
"I never said that you might become a public singer," he replied.
"Then I certainly understood you to say so," Juliet said, with pain and indignation in her tone.
He lightly shrugged his shoulders. "Your vanity misled you, my dear young lady. I am used to being misunderstood in that manner. It is wonderful to what illusions human vanity is prone."
Juliet looked as if she could not believe her ears.
"What did you mean, then," she asked slowly, "when you said that I could do anything with my voice?"
"I have no recollection of ever using those words," he replied. "When you came to me, I understood that you wished to sing as an amateur, and as such I gave you lessons. I could not have encouraged you to dream of becoming a public singer, for till this moment I had no idea that you ever contemplated such a career. If you had consulted me, I should have told you it was impossible. Now I will be quite candid with you. You have a fair voice; it is sweet, it is flexible, there are good notes in it; but—it would be lost in a concert hall. It would do very well for drawing-room singing. You can study with that end in view; you might in time perhaps give lessons."
"Thank you," said Juliet sharply. "I have not the least desire to be a teacher."
He shrugged his shoulders again. "And you would need to learn a great deal before you were fit to teach," he said. "You are no musician, my dear Miss Tracy. Your knowledge of the science is very imperfect; you are no timist; you lack accuracy, delicacy, finesse; above all, the indomitable perseverance which alone achieves greatness in art. Oh yes, I know. You think it would be grand to be a prima donna; you crave the admiration, the applause, the renown. You desire to be set up yourself. But love of self is not the love of art, nor can the highest success be won by its inspiration. It is not religion only that demands self-denial. No end worth having can be won without it. And art itself becomes a religion to the true artist. I could tell you passages of my own history that would astonish you."