."

He looked so bright and daring as he spoke that she could hardly help
sharing his confidence. "Ah! the opera!" she said. "But, Bertie, you
must work."

"The opera--Yes, of course I will work," Bertie answered. "Now you
mention it, it strikes me I may as well have a pipe and think about it
a bit. No time like the present, is there?" So Bertie had his pipe and
a little quiet meditation. There was a lingering smile on his face as
if something had amused him. He always felt particularly virtuous when
he smoked his pipe, because it was so much more economical than the
cigars of his prosperous days. "A penny saved is a penny gained."
Bertie felt as if he must be gradually making his fortune as he leant
back and watched the smoke curl upward.

And yet, with it all, how could Judith complain? He was the very life
of the house as he ran up and down stairs, filling the dingy passages
with melodious singing. He had a bright word for every one. The grimy
little maid-servant would have died for him at a moment's notice.
Bertie was always sweet-tempered: in very truth, there was not a touch
of bitterness in his nature. And he was so fond of Judith, so proud of
her, so thoroughly convinced of her goodness, so sure that he should
do great things for her some day! What could she say against him?

Percival, too, was fascinated. His room smelt of Bertie's tobacco and
was littered with blotted manuscripts. He went so regularly to
hear Bertie play that Mr. Clifton noticed the olive-skinned,
foreign-looking young man, and thought of asking him to join the Guild
of St. Sylvester and take a class in the Sunday-school. Yet Percival
also had doubts about the young organist's future. He knew that
letters came now and then from New York which saddened Judith and
brightened Bertie. If Mr. Lisle prospered in America and summoned his
son to share his success, would he have strength to cling to poverty
and honor in England? There were times when Percival doubted it. There
were times, too, when he doubted whether the boy's musical promise
would ever ripen to worthy fruit, though he was angry with himself
for his doubts. "If he triumphs, it will be _her_ doing," he thought.
Little as he saw of Judith, they were yet becoming friends. You may
meet a man every day, and if you only talk to him about the weather
and the leading articles in the _Times_, you may die of old age before
you reach friendship. But these two talked of more than the weather.