Helen numbered in her repertoire a good many pieces that were hopelessly beyond the technic of the average salon pianist, and she had chosen the most formidable with which to astonish her hearers that evening. She had her full share of that pleasure which people get from concerning themselves with great things: a pleasure which is responsible for much of the reading, and especially the discussing, of the world's great poets, and which brings forth many lofty sentiments from the numerous class of persons who combine idealism with vanity. Helen's selection was the first movement of the “Sonata Appassionata,” and she was filled with a pleasing sense of majesty and importance as she began. She liked the first theme especially because it was striking and dignified and never failed to attract attention; and in what followed there was room for every shading of tone, from delicate softness that showed much feeling and sympathy, to stunning fortissimos that made everyone stare. The girl was relieved of any possible fear by the certainty that the composition was completely beyond her hearers' understanding, and so she soon lost herself in her task, and, as her excitement mounted, played with splendid spirit and abandon. Her calculations proved entirely well made, for when she stopped she received a real ovation, having genuinely astonished her hearers; and she crossed the room, beaming radiantly upon everyone and acknowledging their compliments, more assured of triumph than ever before. To cap the climax, when she reached her seat she found Mr. Harrison betraying completely his profound admiration, his gaze being riveted upon the glowing girl as she sat down beside him. “Miss Davis,” he said, with evident sincerity, “that was really wonderful!” “Thank you very much,” said Helen, radiantly. “It was the most splendid piano playing I have ever heard in my life,” the other went on. “Pray what was it that you played--something new?” “Oh, no,” was the answer, “it is very old indeed.” “Ah,” said Mr. Harrison, “those old composers were very great men.” “Yes,” said Helen, demurely. “I was astonished to see with what ease you played,” the other continued, “and yet so marvelously fast! That must be a fearfully hard piece of music to play.” “Yes, it is,” said Helen; “but it is quite exciting,” she added, fanning herself and laughing. Helen was at the top of her being just then, and in perfect command of things; she had no idea of letting herself be dragged down into the commonplace again. “I think it's about time I was fascinating him,” she said to herself, and she started in, full of merriment and life. Taking her last remark as a cue, she told him funny stories about the eccentricities of the sonata's great composer, how he would storm and rage up and down his room like a madman, and how he hired a boy to pump water over his head by the hour, in case of emergency.