She went back to the Rivi regime. A week passed, and she was little better. Two weeks, and she began to mend. But it was six weeks before the last traces of her folly disappeared. Moldini said not a word, gave no sign. Once more her life went on in uneventful, unbroken routine--diet, exercise, singing--singing, exercise, diet--no distractions except an occasional visit to the opera with Moldini, and she was hating opera now. All her enthusiasm was gone. She simply worked doggedly, drudged, slaved. When the days began to grow warm, Mrs. Belloc said: "I suppose you'll soon be off to the country? Are you going to visit Mrs. Brindley?" "No," said Mildred. "Then come with me." "Thank you, but I can't do it." "But you've got to rest somewhere." "Rest?" said Mildred. "Why should I rest?" Mrs. Belloc started to protest, then abruptly changed. "Come to think of it, why should you? You're in perfect health, and it'll be time enough to rest when you 'get there.'" "I'm tired through and through," said Mildred, "but it isn't the kind of tired that could be rested except by throwing up this frightful nightmare of a career." "And you can't do that." "I won't," said Mildred, her lips compressed and her eyes narrowed. She and Moldini--and fat, funny little Mrs. Moldini--went to the mountains. And she worked on. She would listen to none of the suggestions about the dangers of keeping too steadily at it, about working oneself into a state of staleness, about the imperative demands of the artistic temperament for rest, change, variety. "It may be so," she said to Mrs. Brindley. "But I've gone mad. I can no more drop this routine than--than you could take it up and keep to it for a week." "I'll admit I couldn't," said Cyrilla. "And Mildred, you're making a mistake." "Then I'll have to suffer for it. I must do what seems best to me." "But I'm sure you're wrong. I never knew anyone to act as you're acting. Everyone rests and freshens up." Mildred lost patience, almost lost her temper. "You're trying to tempt me to ruin myself," she said. "Please stop it. You say you never knew anyone to do as I'm doing. Very well. But how many girls have you known who have succeeded?" Cyrilla hesitatingly confessed that she had known none. "Yet you've known scores who've tried." "But they didn't fail because they didn't work enough. Many of them worked too much." Mildred laughed. "How do you know why they failed?" said she. "You haven't thought about it as I have. You haven't LIVED it. Cyrilla, I served my apprenticeship at listening to nonsense about careers. I want to have nothing to do with inspiration, and artistic temperament, and spontaneous genius, and all the rest of the lies. Moldini and I know what we are about. So I'm living as those who have succeeded lived and not as those who have failed."