text
to conceal the emotion Mr. Bovyer usually awakened when she listened to
his music.

His first touch on the piano arrested me, and I turned around to watch
his face. I recognized the air--the opening passage from Haydn's
Creation. I was soon spellbound, as were all the rest. Mrs. Flaxman laid
down her fan; there were no melting passages to bring tears in this
symphony, descriptive of primeval darkness, and confusion of the
elements, the evil spirits hurrying away from the glad, new light into
their native regions of eternal night--the thunder and storm and
elemental terrors. Presently I turned to Mr. Winthrop. He was sitting
erect in his chair, his eyes no longer closed in languorous enjoyment;
when suddenly the measure changed to that delicious passage descriptive
of the creation of birds. Mr. Bovyer's voice was a trifle too deep and
powerful for the air, but it was sympathetic and rarely musical.

He ended as abruptly as he began and glided off into one of those old
English glees,--"Hail, Smiling Morn."

Presently turning around he asked: "Are you tired?"

"We have failed to take note of the flight of time; pray go on," Mr.
Winthrop urged.

"What do you say, Miss Selwyn?"

"I would like if you could make Mr. Winthrop cry. If you tried very hard,
you might touch his fountain of tears."

"Bravo! I will try," he exclaimed amid the general laugh. He touched the
keys, and then pausing a moment, left the instrument.

"I am not in the mood to-night for such a difficult task. I may make the
attempt some stormy winter's night at Oaklands. I believe I have a
standing invitation there," he said, joining us around the fire.

Mr. Winthrop threw me an amazed look, but instantly recovering himself he
said heartily:--"The invitation holds good during the term of our natural
lives. The sooner it is accepted the more delighted we shall be."

Mr. Bovyer bowed his thanks, and coming to my side asked if I would care
to attend another concert the following evening.

"It depends on what the music is to be. I am not so sensitive as Mr.
Winthrop to a few false notes now and then. The composer has more power
to give me pain than the performers, I believe."

"I should say, then, that your comprehension of music was more subtle
than his."

"I do not pretend to compare myself with Mr. Winthrop in any way. It
would be like the minnow claiming fellowship with the leviathan."

Mr. Winthrop suggested very politely:--

"Humility