'You're quite mad,' said Mrs. Rushmore. 'You may say what you please. I

maintain that you are quite mad.' 'I can't help it,' Margaret answered without a smile. 'I began by

wishing to do it to earn my living, if I could, but as it turns out, I

have a great voice. I believe I have one of the great voices of the

day. I'm born to sing, and I should sing if you told me I had millions.

I feel it now, and I am not boasting in the least. Ask Schreiermeyer,

if you like.' 'Who is that person with the queer name?' inquired Mrs. Rushmore

severely.

'He's one of the big managers--the one who has engaged me.' 'Engaged fiddlesticks!' commented Mrs. Rushmore, with contempt. 'I say

you are quite mad. If not, how do you account for your wishing to go on

the stage?' Margaret was thinking how she could account for it, when Mrs. Rushmore

went on.

'I'll have a specialist out this afternoon to look at you,' she said.

'You're not sane. I wonder who the best man is.' The last sentence was spoken in an undertone of reflection.

'Nonsense!' exclaimed Margaret emphatically, and adding to the emphasis

by taking off her hat and throwing her head back, shaking it a little

as if she wished her hair were down.

Mrs. Rushmore turned upon her with the moral dignity of five

generations of Puritan ancestors.

'Do you mean to say that after all I've done to get you this money, you

are going to give me up to be an actress?' she demanded with scorn.

'That you're going to give up your best friends, and your position as a

lady, and the chance of making a respectable marriage, not to mention

your immortal soul, just for the pleasure of showing yourself every

night half-dressed to every commercial traveller in Europe? It's

disgraceful. I don't care what you say. You're insane. You shan't do

it!' At this view of the case Margaret's forehead flushed a little.

'You talk as if I were going to be a music-hall singer,' she said.

'That's where you'll end!' retorted Mrs. Rushmore, without the

slightest regard for facts. 'That's where they all end! There, or in

the divorce courts--or both! It's the same thing!' she concluded

triumphantly.

'I never heard a divorce court compared to a music-hall,' observed

Margaret.

'You know exactly what I mean,' answered Mrs. Rushmore angrily. 'Don't

take me up at every word! Contradicting isn't reasoning. Anybody can

contradict.' 'And besides,' continued Margaret, growing cooler as the other grew

warm, 'one cannot be divorced till one has been married.' 'Oh, you'll marry soon enough!' cried Mrs. Rushmore, infuriated by her

calm. 'You'll marry an adventurer with dyed moustaches and a sham

title, who'll steal your money and beat you! And though I am your dear

mother's best friend, Margaret, I'm bound to say that it will serve you

right. It's useless to deny it. It will serve you right.' 'It would certainly serve me right if I married the individual with the

dyed moustaches,' said Margaret, smiling in spite of herself.




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