them is admirably well informed and intelligent."

"Oh, but if you could arrange it so, I should much prefer you, Mr.
Spence," I exclaimed with genuine eagerness. "I did not dare to imagine
that such an arrangement was possible. But now that you have suggested
it yourself, I cannot give up the idea without remonstrance."

I looked at him beseechingly, and he blushed again in a manner to cause
me self-consciousness. He hesitated, and then in a decided tone, as if
he were resisting a temptation, said:--

"It is out of the question, Miss Harlan. I have not time. Mr. Fleisch is
an excellent instructor."

"Very well; Mr. Fleisch then," I answered, a little upset by his
confusion. "Will you speak to him about it and arrange the terms?"

He assented, and the awkward pause that followed was relieved by the
entrance, at the same moment, of Aunt Helen and Mr. Barr, though not in
company it need scarcely be added.

Aunt Helen was in one of her richest and most imposing street costumes,
whereas the artist-poet wore black velveteen instead of brown, and a
flowing yellow tie instead of a cherry one. She regarded him, I could
see, with a mixture of horror and wonder, which led me at once to
perform the duties of a general introduction, preliminary to taking
possession of Mr. Barr, and relegating to Aunt Helen the less
unconventional philosopher. Paul Barr however bowed to her in so superb
and deferential a manner that I thought she looked rather flattered than
otherwise, which relieved my worst apprehensions, and I found myself
straightway chatting with him in a somewhat spirited vein. Heard, in my
own drawing-room, Mr. Barr's compliments and ardent speeches moved me to
badinage, and I saw no harm in accepting them as the ordinary
give-and-take of the would-be lady-killer, more original and therefore
more entertaining than those of a fashionable flirt, but still of the
same general character. I affected to be alternately irate and pleased
at what he said. Meanwhile his eyes looked unutterable things, and he
interspersed his flatteries with a tissue of abnormal but poetic
fancies. He was undeniably fascinating, and all the more so because I
felt in his society somewhat as if I were walking through a gunpowder
vault, with a lighted candle. But there was this difference, that in his
case the character of the possible explosion was wrapped in mysterious
uncertainty, which added an agreeable element of curiosity to my
sensations.