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HARPER’S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 
ton-hole were some fresh violets, for it was I 
already early spring. He pulled the gloves 
from his plump white hands, and went in to 
the piano. It was open, just as Miss Win- 
throp had left it. 
“Will she return to luncheon?” he said, 
running his fingers over the keys; and I 
thought as he spoke how nice it was to he 
the one “ she” in that big generous heart. 
“ Yes, professor,” I replied. 
“ Then I will stay,” he said, and immedi- 
ately I went to prepare his favorite pud- 
ding ; and while I stirred the materials to- 
gether he came out into the kitchen to talk 
about Miss Winthrop. Never by any chance 
when we were alone together did he talk of 
any thing else. 
“I saw your tears,” he cried, in his tragic 
way. “Were they because of Miss Win- 
throp ? I should not at all wonder. Of all 
women, she is the most aggravating, the 
most unreasonable — ” 
“ It was not Miss Winthrop,” I said ; “ and 
you do not think all theso disagreeable 
things that you say of her.” 
“ I do — I do,” he cried. “ You think, now, 
that I am what you Americans call ‘ spoon- 
ey’ about her ; but it is not that at all. I 
have only the puerility to be curious ;” and 
then the professor went on to tell me that 
the mystery in Miss Winthrop’s life gave 
him a “crick in the brain.” 
“At times,” said the professor, “she is 
moody. She is what the French call dis- 
trait — she is plunged into a melancholy pro- 
found and touching. I tell you, my gra- 
cious Frauleiu, there is a burden upon that 
woman’s soul. Now what can it be ?” 
I did not reply. How could I? I had 
also noticed these periods of sadness and 
abstraction upon Helen’s part, but how 
could I speak my heart out to the professor ? 
How could I tell him that he was uncon- 
sciously trifling with Helen, making her 
happy at one time, only to render her the 
more miserable at another ; that this capri- 
cious conduct of his was the cause of Miss 
Winthrop’s melancholy? I did not dare be 
thus frank with the professor, for fear that 
he would go straight to Helen and tell her. 
He was like a child in impulse, and many a 
time, when I had unwittingly trusted him, 
he had unblushingly betrayed me. 
Fortunately, Miss Van Coot came in. The 
professor went into the parlor and began to 
bang upon the piano with the fervor of an 
enthusiast. While I was trying on Miss Van 
Coot’s basque, he poured out his whole soul 
upon the keys, so that Miss Van Coot fidget- 
ed from one foot to the other, and at last 
tore herself away from me and sank upon a 
chair near the door. 
“Let the dress go,” she said. “I must 
listen. Oh, how beautiful it is ! Who is 
he ? Where did he come from ? How mag- 
nificently he plays! How do you manage 
to have an instrument like that ? The high 
notes are perfect and she peeped through 
the crack of the door. 
“ Pardon me,” I said, respectfully, for she 
was the best customer I had, “ but in ten 
minutes I shall be done. The basque fits 
you to perfection. He is Professor Wagner, 
of the Grand Conservatory. He does indeed 
play wonderfully well. The instrument is 
not mine; it belongs to the professor, and 
he has hired it to a young Southern lady 
who is boarding with me. She is a pupil of 
the professor’s.” 
“ A pupil !” said Miss Van Coot, who had 
given herself into my hands again, a warm 
color creeping into her murky skin, her dull 
eyes kindling. “ Then he will teach ?” 
“Yes, if — if — He will teach you, if that 
is what you mean ; of course he will. I only 
meant that the professor’s terms are very 
high.” 
“ So much the better,” said Miss Van Coot. 
It was really wonderful how well the 
basque fitted her. One would certainly 
have thought that her left side was the 
same as her right ; and Miss Van Coot was 
so pleasant a lady, it would have been a 
thousand pities if she had not been able to 
afford to have a skillful dress-maker, one 
who made her work a continual study. I 
was really all of this. It is no egotism to 
mention it. I was quite famous iu my line 
of business, and was particularly successful 
in hiding any little awkwardness or defect 
in shape or carriage. I began by feeling 
sorry for those who were afflicted in this 
way, and determined, as far as in me lay, to 
ameliorate these little disadvantages. And 
the professor never would have known of 
this inequality of Miss Van Coot’s if he had 
not, so to speak, tortured it out of mo that 
unlucky morniug. 
When I had quite finished, and had gone 
to the door with Miss Van Coot, it so hap- 
pened that the professor also came into the 
corridor by the parlor way. “ I shall walk 
out a little,” he said to me, “ until she re- 
turns.” And at that moment ho reached the 
top of the landing where stood my wealthy 
customer. Of course he lifted his hat from 
off his splendid ruddy hair, and bowed his 
handsome head, and waved his plump white 
hand for her to pass on before him. A lady 
was always honored with all this gesticula- 
tory distinction by the professor, whosoever 
she might be. Miss Van Coot, with one ea- 
ger, devouring look upon him, went on to 
her carriage, from which she looked again ; 
but as for the professor, he went on his way 
unmindful, humming a little roundelay un- 
der his breath, and holding his head high in 
the air. But when he came back again, 
luncheon was not quite ready, Miss Win- 
throp had not come, and nothing would do 
but he must know why he had found those 
foolish tears in my eyes that morning. 
