“That’s it! Why? Why should any man look at me? They don’t. They—they’re strictly neutral in their attitude. And women are—well—just tolerant and friendly. ‘Darcy’s such a _nice_ girl.’ Where does that get you?” fiercely demanded the subject of it. “People don’t really know I’m _alive_. I might as well be a ghost. I wish I were. At least I’d scare ’em.” “Don’t try to scare me,” returned the other. “Now list to the voice of wisdom. You complain that people don’t know you’re alive. Why should they? You don’t give out anything—warmth, color, personality. I’m not so sure you _are_ alive. You’re inert.” “I haven’t anything to give,” mourned the accused. “Why? Because you’ve wasted it. You’ve had beauty; good looks, anyway. You have let that die down to nothing. One thing only you’ve kept up, and that ought to be an asset. You’ve got a voice. Do you ever use it for other people?” “I don’t like to sing before people.” “There you are! Always thinking of your little self. You give nothing to the world, yet you think yourself ill-used because—” “What does the world give me?” broke in the aggrieved Darcy. “Nothing for nothing. What would you expect? Do you think it’s going to smile at you when you scowl at it, and stop its own business and gaze on you adoringly and say, ‘Much obliged to you for being alive’? It isn’t that kind of a world, Miss Amanda Darcy Cole.” The owner of the despised first name winced. “I never thought of that,” she murmured. “Thinking is going to be part of your education from now on. You can’t begin too soon.” “I’m ready,” said the girl meekly. “Do you want me to begin with my voice? Shall I take singing lessons?” “Oh, it’s got to go a lot deeper than that,” was Gloria’s grim reply. “You’ll begin by taking _living_ lessons. Do you know what that means?” “I’m not sure I do. It sounds awfully hard,” faltered the other. “It is. Go home and think it over. Come back here to-morrow at this time and get your orders.” “Yessum,” said Darcy, folding her hands with assumed docility. Gloria regarded her with suspicion. “It isn’t going to be any joke,” said she with severity. “No’m,” assented Darcy with a still more lamblike expression. But her eyes twinkled through it. “Oh, well, if you want to take it that way,” observed the actress. “But _I’d_ advise you to save your high spirits for the time when they’ll be needed.” In the seclusion of the hallway Darcy drew out Exhibit A and sought inspiration from the charming face which Holcomb Lee had surrounded with gallant and admiring suitors in the illustration. “If it can be done,” said Darcy to the picture with the solemnity of a rite, “I’ll do it.” CHAPTER III