Mannering stopped smoking and stared again at the polished toe of his russet shoe. He was silent for a long minute; then he laughed. “The whole scheme is distasteful to me,” he stated in pleasant, even tones. “But I don’t see that I can prevent it. I won’t squabble. I can’t stand family quarrels, but I’m not proud of what you’ve done. There has been an Honor Mannering in this house for a century, but never an Honor Mannering in a business college. Business! Secretary to the head of a knitting-mill! Honor Mannering! Can’t you feel the grotesqueness, the sordidness of it?” “Not a scrap, dad,” answered the girl blithely. “Of course, I’d rather go at the music now, and leave out the business. But I can’t, so why bother? Mr. Barron’s giving me a thousand a year if I make good. And I will make good. I’ll make so good that I think he’ll give me more the second year. Don’t you see, father--I’ve _got_ to have money! Even--music is just for that. I’m so sick of debt and pretending and keeping up appearances--having a car and a chauffeur and fine clothes, and skimping on meals and the servants’ wages and letting the house go to pieces! It’s demoralizing. You won’t make money; Eric can’t, for ever so long. I’ve _got_ to. And I’ve this voice which has got to do it for me. You see?” “Not I,” announced Mannering with a shrug. “No woman of my house ever found it incumbent on her before to make money.” “Honor,” demanded the boy, “is that why you’re taking flowers to McIvor? You’re not--trying to work him?” The girl laughed, tossed up her head defiantly. “If he should hear me sing--and say to himself: ‘That’s a good voice; it’s the girl next door; can I help her develop that voice?’ what harm’s that? Eric, how horrid you are to pin me! I dare say--when I said I’d bring some roses for McIvor--when he came to the Barrons from the hospital--why--I’m not ashamed if I did think of that, partly. That he might help about my voice. Why shouldn’t he? Musicians are glad to discover a new big voice. So I shall sing in the garden if I please. And if McIvor hears me and asks me to sing for him--who knows what might happen? Now I’m going to get the best roses we have. And I’ll sing too, if I choose. Too bad he’s not there yet; he can’t hear me.” She ran across the grass with the confident ease of a boy, and suddenly, as she stood again at the rose-hedge her voice, full, strong, effortless, filled all the air with jubilant music.