My grandfather had been looking forward to this glorious occasion with nervous joy. It had been several years since he had taken part in so august a performance; and before the first cigars were half burned out he had begun to fidget and look at his watch. Charley, therefore, was not long in proposing a move. “Now, ladies,” said my grandfather, on reaching the parlor, “I, for one, cannot understand how it is that there are some people who don’t love music; but there are such people, and very good people they are, too. Now, this is Liberty Hall, and every one must do as he pleases. We are going to make some music; but no one need go with us who prefers remaining here. If there are any couples, for instance,”—and Mr. Whacker raised his eyes to the ceiling—“who have softer things to say than any our instruments can produce” (Jones and his girl looked unconscious), “let them remain and say them. Here is the parlor, there is the dining room; arrange yourselves as you would. And now, Mrs. Poythress, will you take my arm and lead the way?” Jones and Jones’s girl were the first to move, and we were soon on our way across the lawn; while dark cohorts brought up the rear and covered the flanks of the merry column. “To me!” said Mary, when the Don had offered her his arm. “I feel much honored.” And with a formal bow she rested the tips of her fingers upon his sleeve. The irony of her tones grated upon his ear, and he turned quickly and bent upon her a puzzled though steady gaze. “Honored?” That look of honest surprise reassured her woman’s heart, but made her feel that she had forgotten herself in meeting a courtesy with an incivility. They always know just what to do. Passing her arm farther within his, and leaning upon him with a coquettish pressure, she looked up with a gracious smile. “Certainly. Have I not the arm of the primo violino,—the lion of the evening?” And the primo violino wondered how on earth he had ever imagined that she was vexed. Very naturally, I cannot remember, after the lapse of years, what quintet they played that evening. All that I distinctly recall is that it was a composition in which the piano was very prominent. My grandfather was (as I have, perhaps, said before) as proud of Lucy’s playing as though she had been his own daughter; and I suspect that he and the Herr made the selection with a view to showing her off.