That afternoon Jonathan went out for two hours. When he returned he summoned Esther to his office.
"Miss Summers," he began abruptly, "how is the voice?"
"I'm afraid—"
"You must be afraid of nothing," he interrupted.
"I'm afraid," she repeated quietly, "I have come to a standstill. Some days I feel as if I could sing forever, then the very next day one easy little song will seem too much. And if I am in a draft for a minute or get caught in a shower, my throat gets sore and hoarse at once. It doesn't seem to get any stronger."
"Probably it won't until you do the right thing. I took the liberty of talking to Doctor Jenkins. He says the trouble is all with your general health. You'll have to build it up. So—so you must get away from this office, that takes up your time and strength, and live as much as possible outdoors and grow strong."
"But I can't do that. I can't afford it and I can't impose on my aunt."
"Could you afford it if you had a good church position?"
"Yes. But I'm not ready for that. I couldn't fill it. No church would want me, with a voice so uncertain—"
"The Second Presbyterian is looking for a new contralto. I have asked them to give you a trial. Will you sing for them?"