erent you are to music."

"I paid no particular attention to the piece. I was intent upon the
performer."

"So the performer supposed."

"What reason had you to suppose so?"

"I'm sure I don't know. Did you ever know a woman to be able to give a
reason, when she has guessed aright?"

"I think they generally contrive to make up a reason, afterwards. Come,
what was yours?"

"Well, you _stared_ so hard."

"Fie! I don't believe it. That's unkind."

"You said you wished me to invent a reason. If I really had one, I don't
remember it."

"You told me you remembered the occasion in question perfectly."

"I meant the circumstances. I remember what we had for tea; I remember
what dress I wore. But I don't remember my feelings. They were naturally
not very memorable."

"What did you say, when your father proposed my coming?"

"I asked how much you would be willing to pay?"

"And then?"

"And then, if you looked 'respectable'."

"And then?"

"That was all. I told father to do as he pleased."

She continued to play. Leaning back in my chair, I continued to look at
her. There was a considerable pause.

"Miss Esther," said I, at last.

"Yes."

"Excuse me for interrupting you so often. But,"--and I got up and went
to the piano,--"but I thank Heaven that it has brought you and me
together."

She looked up at me and bowed her head with a little smile, as her hands
still wandered over the keys.

"Heaven has certainly been very good to us," said she.

"How much longer are you going to play?" I asked.

"I'm sure I don't know. As long as you like."

"If you want to do as I like, you will stop immediately."

She let her hands rest on the keys a moment, and gave me a rapid,
questioning look. Whether she found a sufficient answer in my face I
know not; but she slowly rose, and, with a very pretty affectation of
obedience, began to close the instrument. I helped her to do so.

"Perhaps you would like to be quite alone," she said. "I suppose your
own room is too cold."

"Yes," I answered, "you've hit it exactly. I wish to be alone. I wish to
monopolize this cheerful blaze. Hadn't you better go into the kitchen
and sit with the cook? It takes you women to make such cruel speeches."

"When we women are cruel, Mr. Locksley, it is without knowing it. We are
not wilfully so. When we learn that we have been unkind, we very humbly
ask pardon, without even knowing what our crime has been." And she made
me a very lo