The Music Master Part 25

It was about five minutes before three the next afternoon when Anton Von Barwig's card was brought up to Helene's room by Joles. Herr Von Barwig had evidently taken the precaution to have his name printed on a piece of pasteboard, so as not to offend Joles's delicate sense of propriety.

"Will you see him, miss?" asked the man-servant; glancing at the cardboard somewhat suspiciously.

"Ask him up at once, please," said Miss Stanton, in such a decided tone that Joles hastened to obey her orders.

Helene was perplexed; she had been thinking all the morning of the false position she found herself in. She had told the old music master that she could not play at all, or could only play a little, and that she wanted to take piano lessons. At the very outset he would discover that she was quite a good amateur pianoforte player, with a fine musical ear, and then he would see through her ruse and refuse to teach her. She felt that he would see her pretences were only for the purpose of getting him to give her lessons and she was afraid that he would be very much offended.

"After all, what does it matter?" she asked herself; and the answer came quickly, "It does matter." The more she thought of this the more perplexed she became. Why should she care one way or the other? Who was this man that she should consider his feelings toward her? The whole thing was ridiculous! Yet Von Barwig made an irresistible appeal to her, and she felt that she must rest contented with the fact as it was, without seeking to know how or why. One point, however, stood out very clearly: Beverly Cruger had been obviously jealous last night at the opera. Octavie's silly prattle about a young and handsome foreign n.o.bleman had had a marked effect upon him, and Helene's heart beat slightly faster as she pondered over this phase of the matter.

"He's actually jealous," she thought, and she enjoyed the idea.

Beverly's earnest manliness made her admire him greatly. It almost reconciled her to Octavie's silliness! He was so different from the swarm of social bees who sipped only the sweets of pleasure. He was a worker, a sincere worker, and his promised appointment to the diplomatic service, notwithstanding his youth, attested the fact that he was unusual. "He takes an interest in his country's welfare,"

thought Helene, "and does not ignore it as does the world in which he lives and moves. He is a patriot; he loves his country. He is unselfish, too. A good-looking society man who is unselfish, what an anomaly!" Helene felt rather grateful to the innocent cause of Beverly Cruger's jealousy, and when he entered the room she greeted him with a beaming smile.

"I am so pleased to see you," she said unaffectedly.

Von Barwig had a little paper parcel in his hand. He carefully removed the paper, putting it in his pocket, and then held out a very tiny bunch of violets.

"You are spoiling me," declared Helene, as she took them from him. She had a large bouquet of orchids in her corsage, which she quickly removed, and placed the violets there instead.

"I think violets are far prettier than orchids," she said.

Von Barwig looked rather dubious. He was pleased, but he doubted.

"Do sit down!" she said, and he went toward the piano. "Not at the piano; here," said Helene, seating him beside her. "Now, listen to me, sir! You must not bring me expensive flowers every time you call."

"They are not expensive," said Von Barwig with a smile. "It is the box and the ribbon that costs. You may have observed that I avoided them on this occasion."

"Well, what shall we talk about?" asked Helene, after a pause.

"Talk about?" repeated Von Barwig, slightly perplexed. "Our music lesson!"

"Oh, I don't feel like taking a lesson to-day," said Helene. "I want to talk."

"Yes, but I--it is I who must talk, if I am to teach," faltered Von Barwig in a low voice. He didn't want to go too far, for he had heard that American heiresses were capricious and whimsical and that they took likes and dislikes very suddenly. He did not want her to dislike him, so he would humour her; but he also wanted to teach her.

"You know," she said confidentially, "I think I have a rather discontented nature. Certain people have a horrible effect on me. I want to run about, play, sing, read, quarrel, do anything rather than talk to them. But you, how I like to talk to you! You have a sort of a--what shall I call it--an all-pervading calmness, that communicates itself to me, and soothes my ruffled feelings. I don't seem to feel in a hurry when you're here. And when you smile, as you're smiling now, I don't know why, but I feel just happy, and contented with myself. Do you understand what I mean?" The girl had a far-away expression in her eyes, as if she were day-dreaming. The old man regarded her with a smile.

"You are trying to put me at my ease," he said finally, "and you have succeeded, but we make no progress at our music."

"What music have you brought?" she asked.

"I cannot tell what books you will need until I hear you," he replied.

"You'd better get me Bach's studies," she said carelessly.

"Won't you play?" he asked, "and then I can judge."

"Not now," replied Helene, and then she went on again, telling him of herself, her life, her aims and ambitions, her predilections and prejudices. She seldom referred to her father, and mentioned her mother only occasionally. "How I do ramble on, don't I? I seem to have known you for years."

"You are very happy, are you not?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, I suppose so!" she replied. There seemed to be a tinge of sadness in her manner, a sort of mental reservation as to her happiness that she did not like to confess even to herself. "Yes, I _think_ I am," she said finally.

"Why not?" he answered. "Here all is peaceful, beautiful and harmonious. What surroundings you have!" and he looked around, "beautiful art objects to look at, the beautiful park at your very window. Here all is beauty, joy, peace, without and within. Your architect was a fine artist, or is it your own taste--all this?"

Helene nodded. "I designed this part of the house myself," she replied. "The tapestry and pictures and statuary of course add greatly to its general appearance, but you are quite right--the architect was an artist."

"He must have been," commented Von Barwig, looking about approvingly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Anton learns that his newly found daughter is to be married.]

"Are you looking at that cabinet, the one with the dolls in it? That's a sixteenth century piece; it belonged to Maria Theresa. Father brought it from Paris himself. It's beautiful, isn't it? I keep all my dolls in it, and some day I'll show them to you. I have a great collection; but I don't suppose you take much interest in dolls," said Helene.

"Your father--he must be a fine man," said Von Barwig with a sigh. "I have heard so much of his goodness to the poor, his charity, his interest in church matters----"

"Yes, he is very good," said Helene, without any enthusiasm in her voice. "There is not a hospital or a church or an asylum that doesn't number him among its patrons. Yes, he is really a very good man I suppose," repeated Helene as if she were trying to a.s.sure herself of his goodness. "He lays more corner stones and endows more orphanages than any man in America. He makes beautiful speeches; no public dinner seems to be complete without him. He knows just what to say and how to say it, and what is better than all, he knows when not to say anything!"

Von Barwig nodded. "It's a great gift, that of speech," he said. "I despair of ever being able to speak this language with fluency."

"But you speak English splendidly," said Helene.

"My accent is terrible," said Von Barwig. "Can you not hear it?"

"Your accent is beautiful to me, a rich German aristocratic roundness of expression, with nothing in the least harsh or grating to the ear.

I just love to hear you talk!" declared Helene.

"Really?" asked Von Barwig in surprise.

"Really!" responded Helene with positive emphasis.

"Ah, you spoil me, young lady; you spoil me! But come, just a few bars on the piano, that I may see where my young pupil stands."

Helene looked at him and laughed mischievously.

"Very well," she said, rising with evident reluctance. "I will play you 'The Maiden's Prayer'----"

"Hum," said Von Barwig dubiously. "She has prayed so many times this poor maiden; it is time she should be answered. However, it is for you to decide!"

Helene seated herself at the piano and played that well-known and sorely tried air through as badly as she possibly could. When she had finished she placed her elbows on the keyboard and said: "How do you like this maiden's prayer?"

Von Barwig looked at her critically. "You can do better than that," he said.

"How do you know?" she asked quickly.

"Because, at some points you added notes of your own. You increased the ba.s.s, greatly improving the original harmony of the composition,"

replied Von Barwig. "You have talent," he added. "Badly as you play, badly as you execute, your talent stands out. No one can add to the composer's work without having musical ideas of his own."

"He has found me out already," thought Helene. Then she mechanically picked a tune on the piano with one finger.