here
the street began again under a new name. The position of the place was
quaint, and often it had been intended to remove the obstruction, but
the owner, an eccentric person of great wealth, had hitherto refused to
allow it to be pulled down. But the owner was now old, and it was
expected his heirs would take away the building and allow the lane to
run freely through to the other street. Still it would last Professor
Le Beau's time, for his heart would have broken had he been compelled
to move. He had taught here for the last thirty years, and had become
part and parcel of the neighborhood.

Jennings, quietly dressed in blue serge with brown boots and a bowler
hat, turned down the lane and advanced towards the double door of the
Academy, which was surmounted by an allegorical group of plaster
figures designed by Le Beau himself, and representing Orpheus teaching
trees and animals to dance. The allusion was not complimentary to his
pupils, for if Le Beau figured as Orpheus, what were the animals?
However, the hot-tempered little man refused to change his allegory and
the group remained. Jennings passed under it and into the building
with a smile which the sight of those figures always evoked. Within,
the building on the ground floor was divided into two rooms--a large
hall for the dancing lessons and a small apartment used indifferently
as a reception-room and an office. Above, on the first story, were the
sitting-room, the dining-room and the kitchen; and on the third, under
a high conical roof, the two bedrooms of the Professor and Peggy, with
an extra one for any stranger who might remain. Where Margot, the
French cook and maid-of-all-work, slept, was a mystery. So it will be
seen that the accommodation of the house was extremely limited.
However, Le Beau, looked after by Peggy and Margot, who was devoted to
him, was extremely well pleased, and extremely happy in his light airy
French way.

In the office was Peggy, making up some accounts. She was a pretty,
small maiden of twenty-five, neatly dressed in a clean print gown, and
looking like a dewy daisy. Her eyes were blue, her hair the color of
ripe corn, and her cheeks were of a delicate rose. There was something
pastoral about Peggy, smacking of meadow lands and milking time. She
should have been a shepherdess looking after her flock rather than a
girl toiling in a dingy office. How such a rural flower ever sprung up
amongst London houses was a my