To that city, surfeited with pleasure, a new sensation had come, and
while Winn Hardy was aimlessly gathering news items, too disconsolate to
read the amusement notes even, and caring not at all what happened in
stage-land, it was slowly spreading. A little ripple at first, when the
few who could appreciate the exquisite nature of Mona's simple music,
heard her to go away charmed and come again, the while telling all whom
they knew of it, until the "Alhambra" was packed each night and "Mlle.
Mona in Scotch Melodies," as the sign that flanked either side of the
stage read, was all the rage. Then the papers picked it up and the
musical critics exhausted their vocabularies about her. They extolled
her pose, expression, and inflection; they went into raptures over
technique, time, and timbre; they lauded her classic profile, her arm,
her throat, her eyes; while Mona, unmindful of all their clatter, forgot
herself each night as she threw her very heart and soul into her
playing.

And Fritz grew mad with love!

She practised still, hours each day on new and classic music; he
insisted that she should, and when some soulless sonata, some delirious
composition full of leaps and quivers and trills was learned, she
executed it at night.

But it was the simple and sweet old songs of Bonnie Scotland that won
applause.

And when, as happened almost nightly, some admirer gave a basket or
bouquet of costly flowers to an usher to be passed up over the
footlights to her, they were usually tied with tartan ribbon.

And the little German teacher had almost lost his reason.

Twice he had been on his knees before her, and with hand on heart and in
broken English, disclosed his love for "Mein Fraulein Liebchen."

But Mona only shook her head.

He wept, he raved, he smote his breast, and would have kissed the shoes
she wore, if she would have but stood still and allowed it.

There were others who sent her notes tucked in baskets of flowers, they
begged for an interview, for just one word of reply. They covered pages
with wild declarations of love, they sent her costly jewels tied to love
missives, in the vain hope of an answer, and gathered at the stage door
to see her pass in and out. But Jess, like an old watch dog, was always
on guard. He went with her to the "Alhambra" each night and waited until
she had "done her turn," and after she had changed her garb, helped her
into a carriage and rode home with her.

He well might care