on and make a specialty of it.
They recommended Boston, but Viola wants to go to New York. She wanted
to go last year, but I couldn't let her go. I'd been without her for
four years, and Mr. Lambert's affairs wouldn't permit us both to go,
and so she had to stay; but it _does_ seem too bad for one as gifted
as she is to give it up."

At this moment Serviss changed his entire attitude towards these
people. They were too genuine, too trustful, and too fine to permit of
any patronization, and the girl's dignified silence and the charm of
her pellucid eyes and rose-leaf lips quite transmuted him from the
curious onlooker to the friend. "I can understand your dilemma," he
said, with less of formal cheer and more of genuine sympathy. "And
yet, if your daughter has most decided talent it is only fair to give
her a chance to show what she can do."

The girl flushed and her eyes fell as the mother bent towards her
visitor.

"I wish you would listen to her play, Dr. Serviss, and tell me what
you think of her talent."

His eyes shone with humor. "I will listen with great pleasure; but
don't ask a chemist to judge a pianist. I love music--it is a sweet
noise in my ears--but I can hardly distinguish Chopin from Schumann."
He faced the girl. "Play for me. I shall be very deeply indebted." As
she still hesitated he added: "Please do, or I will certainly think
you consider me intrusive."

As Viola slowly rose, Mrs. Lambert said: "You must not feel that way,
Dr. Serviss. We are highly honored to entertain one so eminent as you
are. I was brought up to value learning. Play for him, Viola."

"What is the reason for her reluctance?" Serviss asked himself. "Is it
shyness? Or does she resent me?"

With a glance of protest at her mother the girl took her seat at the
piano. "I will try," she said, bluntly. "But I know I shall fail."

Twice she laid her hands upon the keys only to snatch them away again
as if they were white-hot metal, and Serviss fancied her cheek grew
pale. The third time she clashed out a few jarring chords intermixed
with quite astonishing roulade on the treble--an unaccountable
interruption, as if a third hand had been thrust in to confuse her.
She stopped, and he began to share her embarrassment.

She tried again, shaking her head determinedly from side to side as if
to escape some invisible annoying object. It seemed as if some mocking
sprite in the instrument were laboring to make her every harmony a
discord