When the beautiful Miss Linlay, the pride and pet of Bath, got ready to announce her marriage, she did it by simply changing the inscription beneath a Romney portrait that hung in the anteroom of the artist's studio, marking out the words "Miss Linlay," and writing over it, "Mrs. Richard Brinsley Sheridan." The Bath porchers who looked after other people's business, having none of their own, burbled and chortled like siphons of soda, and the marvel to all was that such a brilliant girl should thus throw herself away on a sprig of the law. "He acts, too, I believe," said Goldsmith to Doctor Johnson. And Doctor Johnson said, "Sir, he does nothing else," thus anticipating James McNeil Whistler by more than a hundred years. But alas for the luckless Linlay, the Delsarte of his day, poor man! he used words not to be found in Johnson's Dictionary, and outdid Cassius in the quarrel-scene to the Brutus of Richard Brinsley. But very soon things settled down--they always do when mixed with time--and all were happy, or reasonably so, forever after. Herschel resigned from Brabandt's Orchestra and remained in Bath. He taught music, played the organ, became first violinist for Professor Linlay and later led the orchestra when Linlay was on the road starring the one-night stands and his beautiful daughter. Things seemed to prosper with the kindly and talented German. He was reserved, intellectual, and was respected by the best. He was making money--not as London brokers might count money, but prosperous for a mere music-teacher. And so there came a day when he bought out the school of Professor Linlay, and became proprietor and leader of the famous Bath Orchestra. But the talented Mrs. Richard Brinsley Sheridan was sorely missed--a woman soloist of worth was needed. Herschel thought and pondered. He tried candidates from London and a few from Paris. Some had voices, but no intellect. A very few had intellect, but were without voice. Some thought they had a voice when what they had was a disease. Other voices he tried and found guilty. Those who had voice and spirit had tempers like a tornado. Herschel decided to educate a soloist and assistant. To marry a woman for the sake of educating her was risky business--he knew of men who had tried it--for men have tried it since the time of the Cavemen. A bright thought came to him! He would go back to Deutschland and get one of his sisters, and bring her over to England to help him do his work--just the very thing! * * * * * It was a most fortunate stroke for Herschel when he went back home to get one of his sisters to come over into Macedonia and help him. No man ever did a great work unless he was backed up by a good woman. There were five of these Herschel girls--three were married, so they were out of the question, and another was engaged. This left Caroline as first, last and only choice. Caroline was twenty-two and could sing a little.