"Nonsense!" scolded Jennings. "But no more colds like that. They impair the quality of the voice." "I have no voice," said the girl. "I see the truth." Jennings was inwardly cursing his insane temper. In about the kindliest tone he had ever used with her, he said: "My dear Miss Stevens, you are in no condition to judge to-day. Come back to-morrow. Do something for that cold to-night. Clear out the throat--and come back to-morrow. You will see." "Yes, I know those tricks," said she, with a sad little smile. "You can make a crow seem to sing. But you told me the truth." "To-morrow," he cried pleasantly, giving her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. He knew the folly of talking too much, the danger of confirming her fears by pretending to make light of them. "A good sleep, and to-morrow things will look brighter." He did not like her expression. It was not the one he was used to seeing in those vain, "temperamental" pupils of his--the downcast vanity that will be up again in a few hours. It was rather the expression of one who has been finally and forever disillusioned. On her way home she stopped to send Keith a telegram: "I must see you at once." There were several at the apartment for tea, among them Cullan, an amateur violinist and critic on music whom she especially liked. For, instead of the dreamy, romantic character his large brown eyes and sensitive features suggested, he revealed in talk and actions a boyish gayety--free, be it said, from boyish silliness--that was most infectious. His was one of those souls that put us in the mood to laugh at all seriousness, to forget all else in the supreme fact of the reality of existence. He made her forget that day--forget until Keith's answering telegram interrupted: "Next Monday afternoon." A week less a day away! She shrank and trembled at the prospect of relying upon herself alone for six long days. Every prop had been taken away from her. Even the dubious prop of the strange, unsatisfactory Keith. For had he not failed her? She had said, "must" and "at once"; and he had responded with three words of curt refusal. After dinner Stanley unexpectedly appeared. He hardly waited for the necessary formalities of the greeting before he said to Mrs. Brindley: "I want to see Mildred alone. I know you won't mind, Mrs. Brindley. It's very important." He laughed nervously but cheerfully. "And in a few minutes I'll call you in. I think I'll have something interesting to tell you." Mrs. Brindley laughed. With her cigarette in one hand and her cup of after-dinner coffee in the other, she moved toward the door, saying gayly to Mildred: "I'll be in the next room. If you scream I shall hear. So don't be alarmed." Stanley closed the door, turned beaming upon Mildred. Said he: "Here's my news. My missus has got her divorce." Mildred started up.