"Well, I would nearly as soon think of marrying Daniel Blake as this Mr. Bovyer. I have never been in love, but I have an idea what it is," I said, following Mrs. Flaxman to her room. "But Mr. Bovyer might teach you. Did you ever read Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream?" "Oh, yes; and of Titania and Bottom of course, but that was only a dream--Mr. Bovyer is a very solid reality. But I must not stay here gossiping. Mr. Winthrop will be waiting for my description of the music." I slipped into my own room to lay aside my wraps, still smiling over Mrs. Flaxman's childish ideas respecting Mr. Bovyer in the _role_ of a lover, and also a little troubled about the wording of the report I was expected to give. His smile would be more sarcastic than ever, if I confessed my tears; and, alas, I had but little other impression to convey of the majestic harmonies than one of profound sadness. I glanced into my mirror; the picture reflected back startled me. In the handsome gown, with the same gems that had once enhanced my mother's charms, the transformation wrought was considerable; but my eyes were shining with a deep, unusual brilliancy, and a new expression caused by the influences of the evening had changed my face almost beyond my own recognition. I went down to the parlor where I found Mr. Winthrop absorbed in his book. I stood near waiting for him to look, but he remained unconscious of my presence. I went to the fireside. On the mantle I noticed, for the first time, a bust of the great master whose music had just been echoing so mournfully in my ears. I took it in my hand and went nearer the light, soon as absorbed in studying the indrawn melancholy face as was my guardian over his book. When I looked at him his book was closed, and his eyes regarding me attentively. "Do you recognize the face?" "Oh, yes. I wonder he looks like other men." "Why should he look differently?" "Because he was different. I wonder what his thoughts were when he was writing that symphony?" I held the bust off reflectively. "Did you enjoy your evening's entertainment?" "Yes and no,--I wish you had been there, Mr. Winthrop. Please don't ask me to describe it." "I will get a description of how you received it then from Bovyer--he could tell me better than you. He reads faces so well, I sometimes have a fear he sees too far beneath our mask." "I don't want to see him any more then," I said impetuously. "Why not?" "I do not want my soul to be scrutinized by strange eyes, any more than you do, Mr. Winthrop." "How do you know that I object?" "Did you not say just now you had a fear he saw too deeply into us?" "Possibly. I was speaking in a general way--meant humanity at large, rather than my own individual self." "Would you care if I could see all the thoughts and secrets of your soul just at this moment, Mr. Winthrop?" I said, taking a step nearer, and looking intently into his eyes, which returned my look with one equally penetrating.