There was nothing queer to Richard's eye, either in Mrs. Bent, or, at his first glance, in the interior of her little house. All was fresh and neat and simple and in good taste. There was a picture opposite the door, a view of the Castel Angelo, exactly like one which hung in his father's study; there were pretty curtains, there was--Richard stopped short in the doorway, the bright color in his fair cheeks fading rapidly away and then as suddenly returning. Here before him in the parlor of this little gray house, unknown of him, was a new piano! Moreover, it was a magnificent grand piano, finer than Thomasina's, finer, indeed, than any piano he had ever seen. He did not need to read the name on the front; its very shape was familiar to him from catalogues at which he had gazed in inexpressible longing. "Why, Mrs. Bent!" cried Richard. Mrs. Bent smiled in her frightened way at his confusion and delight. "That is the surprise," said she. "It is hers. It came while she was at the exercises." "It looks as though it hadn't been touched!" "It hasn't. She had sort of a queer spell when she saw it"--was that right, or was it "seen"?--"I said she would better eat something." "It was a surprise to her?" "Yes." "How glorious! I wish some one would surprise me that way!" Left alone, Richard walked round and round staring at the shining rosewood and the gleaming keys. He had expected--he almost laughed aloud as he remembered--an upright piano of a poor make, covered with a velvet cover laden with vases and photographs. Thus was the Scott piano decorated. And here was really a grand piano, and the best grand piano that could be bought! If he might only play it! Eleanor found him walking about. She held out her hand, like her mother all excitement and friendliness. She still wore her beautiful embroidered dress, full in the skirt and low in the neck. Her hair was ruffled and her eyes more than ever brilliant. There were no introductory explanations. Richard forgot to say why he had come, never explained, indeed, until long afterward when together, as is the custom of those in like case, they made each impulse, each trivial incident of their association the subject of conversation. "It hasn't been touched," said Eleanor. "When I saw it I forgot how to play!" "Does Miss Thomasina know about it?" "She selected it in Baltimore. She had known about it for weeks and I knew nothing. It doesn't seem as though it could be real. Will you, oh, will you play it first?" Richard turned pale once more. "I'm not sure that I can play either. I'm not sure that I ever touched a piano!" "Oh, you can! Something with great, heavy, rolling, smashing chords. I know that if I touch it it will disappear, and I can't possibly wait till Miss Thomasina comes home. I never could have got through Commencement if I had known it was here."