true, and in her singing were feeling, artistry, training, intelligence. But volume — it was scarcely a fair average, was his judgment.

But quality — there he halted. It was a woman’s voice. It was haunted with richness of sex. In it resided all the temperament in the world — with all the restraint of discipline, was the next step of his analysis. He had to admire the way she refused to exceed the limitations of her voice. In this she achieved triumphs.

And, while he nodded absently to O’Hay’s lecturette on the state of the — opera, Graham fell to wondering if Paula Forrest, thus so completely the mistress of her temperament, might not be equally mistress of her temperament in the deeper, passional ways. There was a challenge there — based