In those next few weeks Fred Payton was a little vague and preoccupied. The revelation which had come to her in that moment before the mirror when she had kissed her own hand, remained as a sort of undercurrent in her thoughts, although she did not put it into words again. Instead, she added Howard Maitland to her daily possibilities: Would she meet him on the street?--and her eyes, careless and eager, raked the crowds on the pavements! Would he drop into her office to say he had fished up a client for her?--and she held her breath for an expectant moment when the elevator clanged on her floor. Would he be at the dance at the Country Club?--and when he cut in, and they went down the floor together, something warm and satisfied brooded in her heart, like a bird in its nest. Sometimes she rebuked herself for letting him know how pleased she was to see him; and then rebuked herself again: Why not? Why shouldn't she be as straightforward as he? Hadn't he told her he would rather talk to her than to any man he knew? She flung up her head when she thought of that; she was not vain, but she knew that he would not say that to any other girl in their set. She was very contented now; not even the ell room at 15 Payton Street seriously disturbed her. The fact was, Life was so interesting she hadn't time to think of the ell room--Howard, herself, her business, her league! Yet, busy as she was, she remembered Flora's desire for music lessons, and every two or three days, before it was time to set the table for dinner, she stood by the togaed bust of Andy Payton, trying to teach the pathetically eager creature her notes. But the lessons, begun with enthusiasm, dragged as the weeks passed; poor Flora's numb mind--a little more numb just now because Mr. Baker's Sam had suddenly vanished from her horizon--could not grasp the matter of time. Fred's hand, resting on her shoulder, could feel the tremor of effort through her whole body, as the thin, brown fingers stumbled through the scales: "Now! Count: One--two--three--" "One--two--oh, land! Miss Freddy, I cain't." "Yes, you can. Try again." "Why don't you jest show me a tune?" "You have got to know your notes first; and you've got to count, or you never can learn." "I don't want to learn, Miss Freddy; I want to play! Oh," she said once, clutching her hands against her breast, "I _want_ to play!" Her mournful eyes, black and opaque, gleamed suddenly; then a tear trembled, brimmed over, and dropped down on the work-worn fingers. "I cain't learn, Miss Freddy; I 'ain't got the 'rithmetic. I want to make music!" Alas, she never could make music! The clumsy hands, the dull brain, held her back from the singing heights! "I cain't learn 'rithmetic," she said (sixteenth and thirty-second notes drew this assertion from her); "and if I cain't play music without 'rithmetic, I might as well give up now."