world?”
No, she couldn’t understand that. It went completely above her head. But slowly several things did dawn on her shrewd, calculating little mind.
He meant what he said. He must be very rich, and to use her own phrase, there were no strings to it. In fact, he made only one condition.
“You will work hard—very hard,” he had told her sternly. “Otherwise—finish! And since I shall have regular reports from your instructors about your progress, it will be no use tying to pull wool over my eyes. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she had nodded. “That’s fair enough. You’re paying. But what happens when I’m trained?”
“That will depend largely on yourself.” He had looked at her thoughtfully. A lovely voice—he knew he was not mistaken about that. But was there anything more? Had she got it in her to develop the warmth, the understanding, the personality that went to the making of a really great voice? Time alone could answer that, and in the meantime she was too young, too ignorant for it to be any use explaining. “I believe that at the least you will be able to earn a better living than you do now. In a year’s time I will be able to judge whether there’s more to it than that. Well?”
She had accepted, of course. And she had worked harder than she had ever done before in her life, partly because she knew he had meant what he said— laziness would mean the end of his interest in her—but also for another reason. Despite the fact that she later discovered she was far from being the only beginner whom he had helped, she could never disabuse her mind of the conviction that in her case there was more to it than that. After all, wasn’t she beautiful —and Wasn’t he a man?
But though Owen turned out to be quite right about her voice, she had been forced to admit to herself that she had never really got any further with him. At least, not until she had made a name for herself. Not that she blamed him for that. Naturally a man in his position didn’t want a nobody for a wife.
Well, she wasn’t a nobody now—nobody could say she was. And that wasn’t only due to her voice and her beauty. She had acquired poise, she knew how to behave in public and she was perfectly at home in houses far larger than Owen’s—the owners of some of them had, in fact, wanted to marry her, but so far she had always refused.
The reason for that was simple. Marion wanted to eat her cake and have it. Accepting any one of the offers she had had would mean the end of her career —and why should she agree to that just when she was beginning to touch the really big money?
Now, with Owen, it would be quite different. He would never expect her to stop singing, admittedly not because of the money, but because of the way he felt about music. He'd be able to help her tremendously, too, not only because of all his professional interests but because of the background that an attractive home and a wealthy husband give a woman.
But there was more to it than that. A complete realist, Marion had taken to heart a lesson learned from other singers now past their prime —a voice doesn't last for ever! So marriage was an essential insurance against the time when her day was over, and marriage to Owen fulfilled all her ambitions—the continuation of her career and permanent security.
It did not occur to her to ask what Owen would get out of marriage to a wife who would spend long periods away from home, but then it never did occur to her to consider other people's points of view. She wasn't made that way. She knew what she wanted and she had every intention of getting it. And she was quite sure, so far as Owen was concerned, that there was no doubt whatever but that she would one day be his wife.
She did rather wish, though, that he would come to the point. Oh, he was charming and indulgent and she was made especially welcome when she visited Spindles—except by that appalling old woman who obviously saw the end of her
No, she couldn’t understand that. It went completely above her head. But slowly several things did dawn on her shrewd, calculating little mind.
He meant what he said. He must be very rich, and to use her own phrase, there were no strings to it. In fact, he made only one condition.
“You will work hard—very hard,” he had told her sternly. “Otherwise—finish! And since I shall have regular reports from your instructors about your progress, it will be no use tying to pull wool over my eyes. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she had nodded. “That’s fair enough. You’re paying. But what happens when I’m trained?”
“That will depend largely on yourself.” He had looked at her thoughtfully. A lovely voice—he knew he was not mistaken about that. But was there anything more? Had she got it in her to develop the warmth, the understanding, the personality that went to the making of a really great voice? Time alone could answer that, and in the meantime she was too young, too ignorant for it to be any use explaining. “I believe that at the least you will be able to earn a better living than you do now. In a year’s time I will be able to judge whether there’s more to it than that. Well?”
She had accepted, of course. And she had worked harder than she had ever done before in her life, partly because she knew he had meant what he said— laziness would mean the end of his interest in her—but also for another reason. Despite the fact that she later discovered she was far from being the only beginner whom he had helped, she could never disabuse her mind of the conviction that in her case there was more to it than that. After all, wasn’t she beautiful —and Wasn’t he a man?
But though Owen turned out to be quite right about her voice, she had been forced to admit to herself that she had never really got any further with him. At least, not until she had made a name for herself. Not that she blamed him for that. Naturally a man in his position didn’t want a nobody for a wife.
Well, she wasn’t a nobody now—nobody could say she was. And that wasn’t only due to her voice and her beauty. She had acquired poise, she knew how to behave in public and she was perfectly at home in houses far larger than Owen’s—the owners of some of them had, in fact, wanted to marry her, but so far she had always refused.
The reason for that was simple. Marion wanted to eat her cake and have it. Accepting any one of the offers she had had would mean the end of her career —and why should she agree to that just when she was beginning to touch the really big money?
Now, with Owen, it would be quite different. He would never expect her to stop singing, admittedly not because of the money, but because of the way he felt about music. He'd be able to help her tremendously, too, not only because of all his professional interests but because of the background that an attractive home and a wealthy husband give a woman.
But there was more to it than that. A complete realist, Marion had taken to heart a lesson learned from other singers now past their prime —a voice doesn't last for ever! So marriage was an essential insurance against the time when her day was over, and marriage to Owen fulfilled all her ambitions—the continuation of her career and permanent security.
It did not occur to her to ask what Owen would get out of marriage to a wife who would spend long periods away from home, but then it never did occur to her to consider other people's points of view. She wasn't made that way. She knew what she wanted and she had every intention of getting it. And she was quite sure, so far as Owen was concerned, that there was no doubt whatever but that she would one day be his wife.
She did rather wish, though, that he would come to the point. Oh, he was charming and indulgent and she was made especially welcome when she visited Spindles—except by that appalling old woman who obviously saw the end of her
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