"I've never seen a picture of Mozart," replied René. "Silly sort of face." That very day Linda outmaneuvered Kurt. As a rule he walked with René to the gates of Galt's Park, but now, believing his sister to be safely out of the way, and also wishing to change the tire of his motorcycle, he let René depart alone, and René was not gone above a hundred yards when he encountered Linda. He bowed, removed his hat, and was for making on, when she stopped. "I'm glad to meet you," she said, with such a smile that René felt once and for all that she was beautiful, and was so confused by his own enthusiasm that he did not take the hand she proffered, and put her to the awkwardness of withdrawing it. "I--I----" He looked desperately up and down the road, but could find no topic, and ended lamely by saying: "I--I like your brother." "Oh! Kurt! But I am glad to have met you. I hoped you would be at the Smallmans last Sunday. I was so disappointed." Her voice too was beautiful in its friendly, emphatic cadences. "I--I wasn't asked." "Oh, you aren't _asked_. You go. Everybody goes." (He had never been able to identify himself with everybody, or to take everybody's doing for a reason for his own.) She went on: "I wanted to ask you if you would care to come and hear me play at the Goetheverein--that's the German club--next Wednesday. It's a good program; Schubert, Beethoven, Brahms. You'll love Beethoven." "My mother plays, but her piano has yellow keys, and the music is faded like the keys." "It must be beautiful to understand your mother. Professor Smallman has told me all about you, and I do hope you'll come." "I'd like to come." "That's settled then. We have supper at the Verein, and I'll introduce you to some people you'll like to know. It's nice to know your friends' friends, don't you think?" René felt vaguely uneasy. "Friends' friends," he repeated almost interrogatively. "Friends," said Miss Brock, "are those whom you have always known you would meet." This she said with a kind of recklessness that was almost exaltation. It certainly startled René into something like emotion, into the desire to respond. For the first time during their conversation his eyes met hers full, and he was confronted with a smile so charmingly inquisitive that he was compelled to satisfy their curiosity and he jerked out: "Yes. Friends." And it seemed to him that she had given and he had accepted--something. Gift and acceptance were so surreptitious that the nature of them was a matter of almost complete indifference. The great thing was the giving and the accepting, and the excitement of the transaction drowned the little emotion that had stirred in him. One more glance he stole at her, and he saw that she was satisfied, that their conversation was at an end. Yet neither could end it, and it was a relief to both when Kurt came hooting and snorting by on his motorcycle. "Till Wednesday then," said Miss Brock. "You--you didn't say what time."