quotation up somewhere--doing mischief to her
impressionable niece.

Nearly all dwelling-houses look alike in Brooklyn, even at midday. The
street in which the Crownes lived was composed of conventional
brown-stone buildings and English basements. Nielje, the Dutch maid,
stood at the half-opened door, regarding with suspicion the big, dark
man who had pulled the bell so violently. Aunt Lucas was in New York at
the meeting of a society devoted to Ethical Enjoyment. Though Nielje had
been warned secretly of an expected visitor, this wild-looking young man
with long black hair, wearing a flaring coat of many colours and baggy
Turkish trousers, gave her a shock. Why did he come to the basement as
if he were one of the cook's callers? She paused. Then the door was
shoved in by a muscular arm, and she was pushed against the wall.

"Don't try that again, man," she protested.

He answered her in gibberish. "Mees, Mees Lora," he repeated.

"Ach!" she exclaimed.

Arpad Vihary gloomily followed her into the dining-room, where Lora
stood trembling. This was the third time she had met the Hungarian, and
fearing Prospect Park,--after two timid walks there, under the
fiery-fingered leaves of early autumn,--she had been prevailed upon to
invite Arpad to her home. She regretted her imprudence the moment he
entered. All his footlight picturesqueness vanished in the cold, hard
light of an unromantic Brooklyn breakfast-room. He seemed like a clumsy
circus hero as he scraped his feet over the parquetry and attempted to
kiss her hand. She drew away instantly and pointed to a chair. He
refused to sit down; his pride seemed hurt.

Then he gave the girl an intense look, and she drew nearer.

"Oh, Arpad Vihary," she began.

He interrupted. "You do not love me now. Why? You told me you loved me,
in the park, yesterday. I am a poor artist, that is the reason."

This speech he uttered glibly, and, despite the extraordinary
pronunciation, she understood it. She took his long hand, the fingers
amazed her. He bent them back until they touched his wrist, and was
proud of their flexibility. He walked to the dining-table and tossed its
cover-cloth on a chair. Upon his two thumbs he went around it like an
acrobat. "Shall I hold you out with one arm?" he softly asked. Lora was
vastly amused; this was indeed a courtship out of the ordinary--it
pleased her exotic taste.

"Hungarian gypsies are very strong, are they not?" she innocently asked.

"