ved along with dignity and order. She had long ago
found out that bills or debts of any kind frightened her husband and
crippled his working power. He said they were like bars on the windows,
and shut out the future; they meant that just so many hundred dollars'
worth of his life was debilitated and exhausted before he got to it. So
Mrs. Harsanyi saw to it that they never owed anything. Harsanyi was not
extravagant, though he was sometimes careless about money. Quiet and
order and his wife's good taste were the things that meant most to him.
After these, good food, good cigars, a little good wine. He wore his
clothes until they were shabby, until his wife had to ask the tailor to
come to the house and measure him for new ones. His neckties she usually
made herself, and when she was in shops she always kept her eye open for
silks in very dull or pale shades, grays and olives, warm blacks and
browns.

When they went into the studio Mrs. Harsanyi took up her embroidery and
Thea sat down beside her on a low stool, her hands clasped about her
knees. While his wife and his pupil talked, Harsanyi sank into a CHAISE
LONGUE in which he sometimes snatched a few moments' rest between his
lessons, and smoked. He sat well out of the circle of the lamplight, his
feet to the fire. His feet were slender and well shaped, always
elegantly shod. Much of the grace of his movements was due to the fact
that his feet were almost as sure and flexible as his hands. He listened
to the conversation with amusement. He admired his wife's tact and
kindness with crude young people; she taught them so much without
seeming to be instructing. When the clock struck nine, Thea said she
must be going home.

Harsanyi rose and flung away his cigarette. "Not yet. We have just begun
the evening. Now you are going to sing for us. I have been waiting for
you to recover from dinner. Come, what shall it be?" he crossed to the
piano.

Thea laughed and shook her head, locking her elbows still tighter about
her knees. "Thank you, Mr. Harsanyi, but if you really make me sing,
I'll accompany myself. You couldn't stand it to play the sort of things
I have to sing."

As Harsanyi still pointed to the chair at the piano, she left her stool
and went to it, while he returned to his CHAISE LONGUE. Thea looked at
the keyboard uneasily for a moment, then she began "Come, ye
Disconsolate," the hymn Wunsch had always liked to hear her sing. Mrs.
Harsanyi glanced questioningl