“And then our engagement will come to an end, and you will begin to sing again.”

“Ah!” he said contemplatively, after a pause, “sing!”

It seemed as if singing was a different matter.

“Yes,” I repeated, “sing. You must throw yourself into that. It will be the best of all tonics.”

“Have I not told you that I should never sing again?”

“Perhaps you have,” I replied; “but I don’t remember. And even if you have, as you yourself have just said, you are now wiser, less morbid.”

“True!” he murmured. “Yes, I must sing. They want me at Chicago. I will go, and while there I will spread abroad the fame of Carl Foster.”