It is the price you must pay--your inheritance.

But hers?
Everything.

Tears, fretting, vexation--and that beautiful voice, that perfect organ, may be impaired.

Think! Think what you are doing! Just for your own personal happiness you are risking the voice of the century, the voice that will give pleasure to tens of thousands--to millions.

You are committing a crime against Art." Max smiled in spite of himself.
"Truly, _Maestro_, I had not thought of it like that," he admitted.
"But I think her faith in me will carry us through," he added confidently.
"Never! Never! Women are not made like that." "And perhaps, later on, if things go well, I shall be able to tell her all." "And much good that will do! _Diavolo_! When the time comes that things go well--if it ever does come--" "It will.