into a glass showcase of ornaments
for the hair. Then, entirely cheerful and happy, and unmolested by the
frightened clerks, he led Harmony outside and in a sort of atavistic
triumph bought her a bunch of valley lilies.

Nevertheless, in his sane moments, Peter knew that things were very
bad, indeed. He was still not in love with the girl. He analyzed his own
feeling very carefully, and that was his conclusion. Nevertheless he did
a quixotic thing--which was Peter, of course, all over.

He took supper with Stewart and Marie on Friday, and the idea came to
him there. Hardly came to him, being Marie's originally. The little flat
was cozy and bright. Marie, having straightened her kitchen, brought in
a waist she was making and sat sewing while the two men talked. Their
conversation was technical, a new extirpation of the thyroid gland, a
recent nephrectomy.

In her curious way Marie liked Peter and respected him. She struggled
with the technicalities of their talk as she sewed, finding here and
there a comprehensive bit. At those times she sat, needle poised,
intelligent eyes on the speakers, until she lost herself again in the
mazes of their English.

At ten o'clock she rose and put away her sewing. Peter saw her get the
stone pitcher and knew she was on her way for the evening beer. He took
advantage of her absence to broach the matter of Harmony.

"She's up against it, as a matter of fact," he finished. "It ought to be
easy enough for her to find something, but it isn't."

"I hardly saw her that day in the coffee-house; but she's rather
handsome, isn't she?"

"That's one of the difficulties. Yes."

Stewart smoked and reflected. "No friends here at all?"

"None. There were three girls at first. Two have gone home."

"Could she teach violin?"

"I should think so."

"Aren't there any kids in the American colony who want lessons? There's
usually some sort of infant prodigy ready to play at any entertainments
of the Doctors' Club."

"They don't want an American teacher, I fancy; but I suppose I could put
a card up in the club rooms. Damn it all!" cried Peter with a burst of
honest resentment, "why do I have to be poor?"

"If you were rolling in gold you could hardly offer her money, could
you?"

Peter had not thought of that before. It was the only comfort he found
in his poverty. Marie had brought in the beer and was carefully filling
the mugs. "Why do you not marry her?" she asked unexpectedly. "Then yo