what it must feel like to touch the notes, and know that you are keeping
the listeners spellbound; that you are taking them into a fairy-land of
sound, where petty personality is lost in vague longing and regret."

"I confess I had not thought of it in that way," he said, humbly. "I
have only regarded it as a necessary every-day evil; and to be quite
honest with you, I fail to see now how it can inspire enthusiasm. I wish
I could see," he added, looking up at the engaging little figure before
him.

"Never mind," she said, laughing at his distress; "I forgive you. And,
after all, you are not the only person who looks upon it as a necessary
evil. My poor old guardian abominated it. He made many sacrifices to
come and listen to me. He knew I liked to see his kind old face, and
that the presence of a real friend inspired me with confidence."

"I should not have thought it was nervous work," he said.

"Try it and see," she answered. "But surely you spoke of singing. Are
you not nervous when you sing?"

"Sometimes," he replied, rather stiffly. "But that is slightly
different." (He was very proud of his singing, and made a great fuss
about it.) "Your profession, as I remarked before, is an unavoidable
nuisance. When I think what I have suffered from the gentlemen of
your profession, I only wonder that I have any brains left. But I am
uncourteous."

"No, no," she said; "let me hear about your sufferings."