"No, nothing; it's only this message from dear old Hoffmeir."

He walked away and pulled aside the curtain which screened the lower
half of the window overlooking the water, and stood gazing out at a
vessel lying beside the wharf beneath. Mrs. Greyson laid down her
modeling tools, disturbed by the other's disquiet, and wondering how
best to distract his attention from himself. Her glance roved
inquiringly about the little room, noting every cast upon the dingy
walls, bits of sculptured foliage, architectural forms, and portions of
the human figure. Then her gaze rested an instant upon her own work,
and from that turned toward the robust form by the window.

"Come, Mr. Herman," she said at length, in a tone half jesting, "I
never saw you so somber."

"It is not that Hoffmeir is dead, poor fellow!" Herman replied,
answering her unspoken question. "I'd made up my mind to endure that,
and any man with his over-sensitive temperament is better off on the
other side of the grass than this any day. I may as well tell you, Mrs.
Greyson, though as a rule I do not find much comfort in blurting out
things. The fact is that Hoffmeir and I quarreled over a girl. We were
both in love with her, like two young fools as we were; but she'd
promised to marry me, and--it was a deal better that she didn't, too. I
thought he tried to take her from me. Now I know I was wrong, and that
Fritz was as high-souled as a god in the matter; but then I sent him
back his ring, and broke off with him and her too. I was a fiery young
fool in those days," he added, with a sad and bitter smile, "a young
fool."