“What a fine voice he has!” “Er—yes, very.” “And his knowledge of musical matters is most unusual, too.” “That so?” “Yes. He says he wanted to make music his profession, but his parents objected; so he took up law.” “Indeed,” murmured Westbrook without enthusiasm. “Yes, but he talks of musicians as glibly as though he had read Grove as much as Blackstone. I haven’t had so good a time discussing my pet composers for many a day.” Westbrook stirred restlessly, and his hostess suddenly became aware of the hopelessly lost look in his eyes. She promptly changed the subject. * * * * * It was the very next day that Mr. Joseph Westbrook appeared in the leading book-store of the city. “I want some lives of musicians,” he announced. “I beg pardon?” “Books, I mean—lives of musicians.” “Oh, certainly, of course,” apologized the clerk. “Which ones?” “Why—er—the best ones, to be sure.” Westbrook’s voice faltered at first, but it vibrated with the courage of his convictions at the last. The clerk suddenly turned his back, and when Westbrook next saw his face it was an apoplectic shade of reddish purple. “Certainly, sir. Bach, Beethoven, Handel, Haydn, Mendelssohn, Mozart, Chopin——” “Yes, yes, put me up one of each,” interrupted Westbrook hastily; he was growing suspicious of the clerk. He left the store with more dignity than he usually displayed. The real estate business would have suffered in the next few days had it depended entirely upon Westbrook, for the greater share of his time was spent in poring over the recent addition to his library. At the end of a month he was sadly entangled in a bewildering maze of fugues, sonatas, concertos and symphonies, in which the names of Bach, Beethoven, Haydn, Handel, Mendelssohn, Mozart and Chopin were hopelessly lost. XIII Westbrook often met the lawyer at the Barringtons’ after that first visit. Martin’s music and Martin’s voice seemed to be unfailing attractions in the eyes of Miss Barrington. Westbrook studied his “lives” assiduously, but only once did he venture to take any part in the discussions of composers which were so frequent between Miss Barrington and the lawyer. That once was sufficient to show him how hopeless was the task he had set for himself; and ever after he kept a discreet silence on the subject of music and all that pertained thereto. As the winter passed, Westbrook was seen more and more frequently in the company of Miss Barrington. His eye had lost its gloom and his step had gained a new springiness. Just why, Westbrook did not stop to consider. Indeed, the considering of anything was what the man most wished to avoid.