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 as I told you. Mr. Fleming and her teachers believe that she has an unusual career ahead of her. We are anxious, of course, to have her come under a good management, and Mr. Fleming suggested this bureau.”

“Miss Loamford has never given a recital?”

“Not yet. Of course she sang at the recitals at St. Cecilia’s Conservatory when she was a student there, but I didn’t think it wise for Dorothy to give a public concert until she was ready.”

“You believe that she is prepared?”

“Oh, indeed yes! In fact, we gave up a trip to Europe so that she could make her début now.”

Maxwell studied his finger-tips reflectively.

“You realize, I suppose,” he said, “the importance of a New York début. A singer’s future really depends on it. There are hundreds of débuts every year and only a few artists succeed in making any impression on the critics or the public. There would be thousands of débuts if all the artists who thought that they were fit to appear were in a position to see a concert through. We have anywhere from five to ten applications a day. I have four in the morning’s mail on my desk. Most of them—all of them, I should say—are from people who have no business appearing in public. Your daughter isn’t a coloratura?”

Mrs. Loamford denied the charge. Dorothy was a lyric soprano. An unusually talented lyric soprano.

“That’s promising. It’s amazing how many coloraturas there are. I can’t understand it. Almost everyone who writes in is a coloratura.”

Dorothy thought of Rose Manning and smiled a little maliciously.

“The policy of this management is to make débuts possible for any promising artist. Many bureaus are