"It's no use taking it too seriously," said Fanshaw. "No, I don't suppose one ought to take Wenny seriously," Nan whispered slowly, "And yet ..." "Are we taking the car?" asked Betty Thomas. "I'll come up as far as your place and then go on over to see Mother... I haven't been there all day," said Fanshaw. Career, he was thinking. Will Nan or this girl make careers? Career in music, diva, prima donna, like Ethel Barrymore in Tante, Adelina Patti; Doris Keene in Romance. Suites in hotels full of expensive flowers. For me a career wouldn't be like that. Too absurd, poor dear mother wanting me to have a lovely career. Epicurus would not have approved of a career. At Symphony Hall they got out of the car. "Nan, you'll invite me to your first concert in there, won't you?" said Betty Thomas. "If you'll invite me first." They laughed to hide their eagerness. They walked up a street of brick and brownstone houses with narrow windows stuffed with fussy curtains on the parlor floors. Occasionally a girl passed them with a folder of music under her arm. From the houses came a perpetual sound of scales taken with tenors, sopranos, contraltos, tinkled on pianos, scraped on 'cellos and violins, toodled on flutes. From somewhere came occasionally the muffled bray of an English horn. "Fearful street, isn't it?" said Fanshaw. "So Betty and I aren't the only ones ..." "You mean who want to scale Symphony Hall? O, it's a common disease, Nan.... Well, I must go back and get the car over to Brookline. If Wenny goes to see you, do try and get him to be sensible." * * * *