"For the purposes of a career as a female you are strong and well," said he. "For the purpose of a career as a singer--" He smiled and shook his head. "A singer must have muscles like wire ropes, like a blacksmith or a washerwoman. The other day we were climbing a hill--a not very steep hill. You stopped five times for breath, and twice you sat down to rest." She was literally hanging her head with shame. "I wasn't very well that day," she murmured. "Don't deceive yourself," said he. "Don't indulge in the fatal folly of self-excuse." "Go on," she said humbly. "I want to hear it all." "Is your throat sore to-day?" pursued he. She colored. "It's better," she murmured. "A singer with sore throat!" mocked he. "You've had a slight fogginess of the voice all summer." "It's this sea air," she eagerly protested. "It affects everyone." "No self-excuse, please," interrupted he. "Cigarettes, champagne, all kinds of foolish food, an impaired digestion--that's the truth, and you know it." "I've got splendid digestion! I can eat anything!" she cried. "Oh, you don't know the first thing about singing. You don't know about temperament, about art, about all the things that singing really means." "We were talking of careers," said he. "A career means a person who can be relied upon to do what is demanded of him. A singer's career means a powerful body, perfect health, a sound digestion. Without them, the voice will not be reliable. What you need is not singing teachers, but teachers of athletics and of hygiene. To hear you talk about a career is like listening to a child. You think you can become a professional singer by paying money to a teacher. There are lawyers and doctors and business men in all lines who think that way about their professions--that learning a little routine of technical knowledge makes a lawyer or a doctor or a merchant or a financier." "Tell me--WHAT ought I to learn?" "Learn to think--and to persist. Learn to concentrate. Learn to make sacrifices. Learn to handle yourself as a great painter handles his brush and colors. Then perhaps you'll make a career as a singer. If not, it'll be a career as something or other." She was watching him with a wistful, puzzled expression. "Could I ever do all that?" "Anyone could, by working away at it every day. If you gain only one inch a day, in a year you'll have gained three hundred and sixty-five inches. And if you gain an inch a day for a while and hold it, you soon begin to gain a foot a day. But there's no need to worry about that." He was gazing at her now with an expression of animation that showed how feverishly alive he was behind that mask of calmness. "The day's work--that's the story of success. Do the day's work persistently, thoroughly, intelligently. Never mind about to-morrow. Thinking of it means dreaming or despairing--both futilities. Just the day's work."