THE SONG OF THE LARK
strongest need of your nature is to find yourself, to emerge as yourself. Until I heard you sing I wondered how you were to do this, but it has grown clearer to me every day."
Thea looked away toward the window with hard, narrow eyes. "You mean I can be a singer because I have n't brains enough to be a pianist."
"You have brains enough and talent enough. But to do what you will want to do, it takes more than these—it takes vocation. Now, I think you have vocation, but for the voice, not for the piano. If you knew,"—he stopped and sighed,—"if you knew how fortunate I sometimes think you. With the voice the way is so much shorter, the rewards are more easily won. In your voice I think Nature herself did for you what it would take you many years to do at the piano. Perhaps you were not born in the wrong place after all. Let us talk frankly now. We have never done so before, and I have respected your reticence. What you want more than anything else in the world is to be an artist; is that true?"
She turned her face away from him and looked down at the keyboard. Her answer came in a thickened voice. "Yes, I suppose so."
"When did you first feel that you wanted to be an artist?"
"I don't know. There was always—something."
"Did you never think that you were going to sing?"
"Yes."
"How long ago was that?"
"Always, until I came to you. It was you who made me want to play piano." Her voice trembled. "Before, I tried to think I did, but I was pretending."
Harsanyi reached out and caught the hand that was hanging at her side. He pressed it as if to give her something. "Can't you see, my dear girl, that was only because I happened to be the first artist you have ever known?
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