Before Celia had been at the Academy a month, she came to the conclusion that musicians generally were the most jealous and conceited species of the human race. It amused her greatly to hear the students--and especially the girl students--condescendingly speak of Paderewski’s “no mean abilities,” and Madame Patti’s “ofttimes faulty vocalization.” To her such musical giants as these were beyond criticism; but then, of course, she was a new student, and correspondingly unsophisticated. She gradually came to divide these girl critics into two classes--those who raved over the latest long-haired musician and designated him as “such an artist, don’t you know!” and those belonging to the _nil admirari_ set, who methodically pulled to pieces every one who possessed more talent than themselves. Celia herself was prepared at that time to admire everybody and everything. She had not yet overcome her first feeling of awe at actually having become an Academy student--of being able to meet in person those “lions” of the musical profession, whom hitherto she had regarded but as names. She sat in the concert-room, and listened to the orchestra almost reverently, for there was no saying how many embryo Beethovens and Mozarts there might not be among that medley of players. Then she managed to lose herself in the labyrinth of passages with which the Academy abounds, and was obliged to ask a dyspeptic-looking youth the way back to the entrance hall. He was lanky and narrow-shouldered, but he might be a genius for all that--perhaps a second Wagner even,--so Celia addressed him with respect accordingly. Her first singing-lesson--to which she had looked forward with much trepidation--was not such an ordeal as she had expected it to be. She had been told that Lambert was a bully and a boor; and when she noticed the pupil who came before her quit the room in tears, her spirits sank to zero. Lambert, however, received Celia quite graciously, and leered at her in a manner which he seemed to consider irresistible. He was a little man with shaggy white hair, and a face reminiscent of a bull terrier; and he had a way of grunting his remarks, which considerably strengthened the canine effect of his personality. Had Celia been of a more nervous temperament, she would certainly have been disconcerted by his repeated attempts to flurry her, but his caustic remarks only served to put her on her mettle, and she was determined not to be over-awed. “Who did you say was your master?” he asked for the fourth time, as she prepared to take her leave. “Bemberger? H’m. Don’t think much of his method. Too much _tremolo_; sounds like shaking a water-bottle. Practise those exercises I gave you; don’t attempt a song for six months. Good-day!” Celia was aghast. Not attempt a song for six months. What a decree! All her visions of fame as a successful singer melted into thin air; she was a humble little student at the bottom of the ladder, and nothing more.