“You could scarcely expect me to let you in when another gen’leman was here!” said she. “Especially when----” I saw her look at the ring; but she checked herself. My afternoon calls in Salem had not so exclusively monopolized the lady’s attention, and I looked at her, puzzled. Just then the front door-bell rang; and I was confident I heard Mrs. Judge Pennoyer tell someone that Miss Jeanie “was very much engaged.” My conversation languished. I think that Miss Bruce was disappointed. “Shall I play to you?” I saw her hesitate between “The Shepherd Boy” and a romance of Brinley Richards; and I hastened to reply, “I would rather talk.”-- “But you don’t talk,” cried she. “But I look.”-- “You can look while I play.”-- “Not so well,” said I.-- “I have a new piece--one they sent me from the convent, the Sacré-Cœur, you know, where I was for some years. It is called the ‘Tears of Love.’ The musical instruction of the convent was very good. Sister Ignatia had studied in Italy. I suppose it was better than outside--don’t you?” I had never studied in a convent, and I don’t think I made much answer, for she went on. “Of course, you know, it is pleasanter in other ways. One has so much more liberty. Yet the most Kentucky ladies are all educated in convents. But I felt that I wished to see more of society. At the Sacré-Cœur they do not allow you to receive your gen’lemen friends except in the presence of the mother superior.” There was a freshness, a simplicity of method in this young lady’s playing with the boys that quite took my breath away, and to relieve the situation I deemed it best to submit to the “Tears of Love.” Of this piece of music I remember little, save that the composer was continually bringing the left hand over the right to execute unnecessary arpeggios in the treble notes. Jeanie’s girlish figure was so round, and swayed so easily, that I thought this part of the music very pretty. Then I bethought myself of the object of my visit; and I invited Miss Jeanie and Miss May, on Mr. Coe’s behalf, to make the railroad trip. A Salem instinct made me include Mrs. Judge Pennoyer; I then saw in Miss Bruce’s look that it had been unnecessary. Only when I got out the door did I remember that the ring had, after all, been my main object; to return it, I mean. On the other side of the street, along by a low white-painted paling, lowered a heavy, hulking fellow in a rusty black frock-coat, a great deal of white shirt, and a black clerical tie. In this garb I recognized the Southern University man, and in the man I had a premonition I saw the redoubtable “Cousin Kirk.” 4.