destroy this impression. Did not dead people smile?
He returned to his seat on the verandah. Clara Barnes was passing.
Hello, Gareth.
Hello, Clara.
Did you hear me last night?
Yes. He descended from the porch and joined her on the side-walk. I can't yell, he explained. Mother's asleep. Yes, I heard you. You had quite a little triumph, Clara. When are you going to Chicago?
In September, Gareth.
And some day you'll be singing in opera. . . .
In two years, Gareth.
I've never yet heard an opera . . . but I know about them all. I can tell you why Melba sang Brinnhilde in Siegfried only once. I know about Nordica's row with Jean de Reszke. I've got all their pictures, he concluded lamely.
In a few years, Gareth, I'll send you mine. I'm going to be as great as any of them. You'll see. I'd like to look at your pictures again, Gareth. Show them to me, will you?
Now? he asked, not with much enthusiasm.
Why yes, she replied, let's.
He led the way slowly back to the barn. As they passed through the doorway, she said, It's been a long time since I've been up here with you, Gareth.
