terwards she asked Avenel to play, and he just smiled
and said he could not. Why, she said, he gave a recital the day before
for nothing, for a charity, and played the people's souls out of their
bodies, made them act crazy, as he always does. Couldn't he play for
friendship? No, he said, he couldn't just then because one must be
filled with sorrow oneself before one can make others feel, and he
inferred that he had no room even for regret. 'I play Chopin on a
biscuit,' he said."

"He must be rather a pig," was Edna's comment.

"Not a bit of it. Momma said he really had not eaten much; in fact she
had noticed that he left a bit of that lovely _entree_. Perhaps he is
afraid of getting fat. Momma was real mad with him."

Olive's cheeks were flushed and her hands trembled as she arranged the
cups on the tray. She was thankful for the shelter afforded by the
great silver tea-pot. Mamie's back was turned to her, but Edna seemed
desirous of including her in the conversation.

"Have you heard Avenel, Miss Agar?" she asked presently in her gentle,
drawling way.

"No. Is he very famous? I have never heard of him as a pianist."

"Oh, his professional name is Meryon, of course. He is billed as that
and known all the world over, though he only began to play in public
three years ago when his wife left him. She was always a horrid woman,
and she made him marry her when he was quite a boy, they say. They say
he plays to forget things as other men take to drink. He has been
twice to New York, and I know a girl who says he gave her a lock of
his hair, but I don't believe her. It is dark brown, almost black, but
I guess she cut it off a switch. He's not that kind."

Olive said nothing.

"You need not stay if you don't want to," Mamie said unceremoniously.
"Be ready to come down after dinner. I might want you to play my
accompaniments."

"I can't think why you say she won't do," cried Edna when she was gone
out of the room. "I call her perfectly sweet. Rather sad-looking, but
just lovely."

Mamie sniffed. "Glad you admire her," she said.

The governess was expected to appear at luncheon, but dinner was
served to her in her own room, where she must sit in solitary state,
dressed in her best and waiting for a summons, until eleven o'clock,
when she might assume that she would not be wanted and go to bed. This
evening Olive lingered rather anxiously over her dressing, trying to
make the best of herself, since it seemed that sh