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 thought. Madame Graaberg always had complimented her on the performance of this selection.

Soedlich, however, seemed far from impressed.

“Sit down,” he said.

What would follow this invitation?

She sank into the couch, and Soedlich sat beside her.

“My dear child,” he remarked, “you do not need so much instruction in the mechanics of singing as a talk on interpretation. You are like a princess who is still asleep.”

It was decidedly a dubious speech. Dorothy sought the far corner of the couch. Soedlich looked at her steadily.

“Are you afraid that I will eat you?” he asked, gently.

He arose and walked up and down in front of her. What would he do next? She was sorry that she had come, She had imagined a session with Soedlich to be something rather exciting, but this was only a series of uncomplimentary comments. He treated her like a child; and she was certain that if she would permit it, he would fondle her as he would paw over a very young girl. She remembered Rose Manning’s line about “pash lips.” It made her uncomfortable. The room, with its voluptuous hangings and its subdued lighting, had an air of seduction about it. And why the cutaway?

Soedlich resumed his place on the couch. Dorothy observed that he seemed to smirk a trifle as he deliberately placed himself as far away from her as he could. Had she shown him her attitude on such matters? Or was he preparing for some strange amorous strategy?

“Tell me,” he said, “about your philosophy of life. I think that is what is wrong with your singing.”

An indirect opening for intimacies! Dorothy warded it off with a look of non-comprehension.

“You do not understand? I was afraid that you might not.”