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 protested that it was too hot to think of such matters. Dorothy was content to let the matter rest.

Some graduate student, eager to achieve a reputation in the abstruse, might build his thesis on the proposition that the non-delivery of advertising matter sent through the mails is a factor in American life. He might take as his starting point the possible developments in Dorothy’s career had not the letter carrier dutifully brought to the Loamford home the brochure of the St. Cecilia Conservatory of Music (A Home Music School for Girls). The St. Cecilia Conservatory was in the heart of the city, the circular acknowledged, thus permitting access to the opera, concerts, recitals, lectures, etc., and yet conducted by women who knew that a good home was essential to the girl who was studying for a career. It combined, in fact, the cozy atmosphere of the small-town college with the broad cultural advantages of the metropolis. Students who lived in New York City might sleep at home, for a limited number of day students of unusual promise would be accepted.

Mrs. Loamford liked the circular.

“This is the place for Dorothy!” she proclaimed. “It means business.”

Her husband agreed that it sounded plausible and that the rates were reasonable enough, considering that instruction in repertoire (whatever that may have been), fencing and rhythmics and free lectures on musical appreciation were included in the fee. The list of instructors contained several famous names, among them Michel Soedlich, who was listed as a “guest coach.”

The booklet and its entry into the family life Loamfords was a triumph for the anonymous copy who had created it. Dorothy thought that the St. Conservatory would be the best possible place for her.