“I haven’t anything to give,” mourned the accused.
“Why? Because you’ve wasted it. You’ve had beauty; good looks, anyway. You have let that die down to nothing. One thing only you’ve kept up, and that ought to be an asset. You’ve got a voice. Do you ever use it for other people?”
“I don’t like to sing before people.”
“There you are! Always thinking of your little self. You give nothing to the world, yet you think yourself ill-used because—”
“What does the world give me?” broke in the aggrieved Darcy.
“Nothing for nothing. What would you expect? Do you think it’s going to smile at you when you scowl at it, and stop its own business and gaze on you adoringly and say, ‘Much obliged to you for being alive’? It isn’t that kind of a world, Miss Amanda Darcy Cole.” The owner of the despised first name winced. “I never thought of that,” she murmured.
“Thinking is going to be part of your education from now on. You can’t begin too soon.”
“I’m ready,” said the girl meekly. “Do you want me to begin with my voice? Shall I take singing lessons?”
“Oh, it’s got to go a lot deeper than that,” was Gloria’s grim reply. “You’ll begin by taking living lessons. Do you know what that means?”
“I’m not sure I do. It sounds awfully hard,” faltered the other.