Helene was surprised. Beverly Cruger was far and away the most undemonstrative man of her acquaintance, and his cordial greeting of her old music master went straight to her heart. "He likes him because--perhaps, because I do," she thought.

"Do you know you remind me very much of a splendid bust of Beethoven I saw in the British Museum? Upon my word you do!"

Von Barwig bowed.

"Oh, I think Mozart rather than Beethoven," suggested Helene. "He's not stern enough for Beethoven."

Again Von Barwig bowed.

Beverly Cruger shook his head. "Beethoven," he said, looking at Von Barwig critically. "Still--well--I'm not sure, perhaps----"

"Mozart," insisted Helene.

"Are you sure you don't mean Liszt? We really do look alike!" Von Barwig said, with a twinkle in his eye. Then he added, "Ah, you are very kind to me, very kind! Dear me, I am afraid you spoil me. Those are the giants, the leaders of a great art. I am the most humble of all its followers. Even to resemble them is in itself a great honour."

Helene could never quite clearly remember how or when Von Barwig took his leave that memorable afternoon, but when he came on the following day to give his lesson she held both his hands in hers.

"You shall be the first one to hear the news," she said almost in a whisper. "I'm so happy, so very, very happy!" He looked at her, and understood.

"Herr Cruger?" he asked. She nodded affirmatively.

"How did you know?"

"Ah! He is an excellent young man; I approve very highly of him."

Then he was afraid of his own temerity. "What right had he to approve?

He must curb his tongue," he thought. "I beg your pardon! I mean he is a most excellent gentleman."

Helene hardly heard him, for her thoughts were far away at that moment.

"I wonder what father will say?" she said.

Von Barwig started. The word father sounded strange, as if a discord had been struck in the midst of a beautiful harmony. "Why should I feel like that?" he asked himself. "Barwig, you are a fool, a madman!

Mr. Stanton is her father; I must love him, too. My heart must not beat every time I hear his name. Come! Let us go to work; our studies--" he said aloud, tapping the book. "We must go to work. I have brought with me the book of exercises."

"No! no study to-day. But please don't go--just yet," she added as Von Barwig prepared to take his departure. "Sit down! I am going to be very angry with you."

"Angry with me?" the old man smiled. He knew it was only the girl's way of finding some little trivial fault with him. "Angry with me," he repeated. "And you said you were so very, very happy."

"Yes, I forgot when you came in that I ought to be very angry with you."

"Ah, you ought to be, but you are not! No, surely not," said Von Barwig gently.

"Why did you send me back my cheque? This one! Don't look so innocent; you know what I mean, sir!" and Helene held up the cheque that Von Barwig had found awaiting him at his room the night before, and that he had carefully mailed back to her.

Von Barwig looked pained.

"Herr Von Barwig, let us have a little understanding!" said Helene in a far more serious tone than she usually took with her music master.

"Ah, don't be angry, please don't be angry to-day! Not on such a day as this!" he urged. "To-morrow you may scold me if you like; but to-day, no, please, no!" and he looked at her so pleadingly that Helene was forced to smile. "I wish nothing to happen that shall interfere with the happiness that has come to you," he added.

But Helene was insistent. "It has been on my mind some time to ask you why you take such an interest in me," she said, "and now this," and she looked at the cheque.

Von Barwig was silent. What could he say? He dared not tell her the real reason.

"When I came to your studio with the little boy and asked you to teach him, you refused to accept money. Your reasons were that you were devoted to your art and that you loved to help the children of the poor. Surely I don't come under _that_ cla.s.sification, Herr Von Barwig?"

"Oh, no, no!" faltered poor Von Barwig.

"Then why do you refuse to take my money? Heaven only knows you've worked hard enough for it! Your efforts to instill your ideas into my head deserve far greater recognition than mere money payment."

"No, no! I have not worked. It has been so great a pleasure. No, decidedly there has been no work! I do not feel myself ent.i.tled to take, until you show some progress." Von Barwig felt himself on terra firma again.

"All that is begging the question, my dear Maestro! Whether your work affords you pleasure or no, it is still your work. Teaching is your means of livelihood, is it not?"

"Not altogether; I play at--" and then he thought of the Dime Museum and was silent. He looked at her; she was regarding him quite seriously, and he was afraid he had offended her. There was a pause during which he tried to think out a course of action calculated to offset his mistake. Helene broke the silence.

"You left your own country, where I understand you were well known and successful, and you came over here, where, pardon my saying so, you are not known and where you--" Helene hesitated slightly, "where you are not so prosperous. When I bring you a pupil you refuse to take money for his tuition. When I take lessons from you myself, you refuse to take money from me. Now, my dear Herr Von Barwig, I confess that I cannot understand! You must explain." There was a dead silence.

"What does it mean?" demanded Helene. Von Barwig looked at her helplessly. He had no explanation, or, rather, he realised that the one he had was insufficient.

"Why do you take so much interest in me?" she asked.

"At first for a likeness, a likeness to some one I knew," replied Von Barwig, in a low voice. "You resemble a memory I have known, a memory that gives me so much happiness. She is gone, and now you--pardon the liberty--you take her place. I take interest because it was she--and it is now--you--you--a fresh young girl that will never grow old! You have taken the place of--of--" Von Barwig could not go on. He knew what he meant, but he could not express it.

"As I said before, Herr Von Barwig," and Helene spoke now with less show of wounded dignity, "I do not understand. It is simply incomprehensible, but it amounts to this--you must not refuse this cheque. If you do, I--I shall be compelled to--to refuse to go on with my lessons," and Helene held out the cheque toward him. Von Barwig looked at her; his sweet melancholy smile deepened as he slowly shook his head.

"If you knew, if you knew, Miss Helene, how I love to teach you, you would realise that I am over-compensated now. I am a foolish old man, I suppose, a foolish, sentimental old man! Perhaps I do not understand the ways of this country. Here there is no what we call _esprit de corps_, no enthusiasm, no love of art for the sake of art, no love of beauty for the mere sake of beauty. All is exchange and barter; so much done, so much to be paid for. Music, bricks, painting, sculpture and sewing machines all in one item--all to be paid for. Here for me is fairyland! It may not be fairyland for others, but for me it is fairyland. When I walk up the steps of this house and ring the bell, I stand there impatiently till your Mr. Joles opens up for me heaven.

When I tell you that Mr. Joles is for me an angel, the archangel that unlocks for me paradise, you will realise to what extent I separate this world of love, of joy, of happiness, the world over which you preside, from the outside world, where together come music and bricks and human misery. Here is my heaven, my haven of rest and sweet contentment. Shall I take money for it; shall I be paid for my happiness? Ah, Fraulein, Fraulein, I dream, I dream! For sixteen years I have not rested. Don't wake me, please don't wake me!"

Helene tore the cheque into little pieces.

"To-morrow at three, Herr Von Barwig," she said. And when he had gone she burst into tears without in the least knowing why.

Chapter Eighteen

Whatever Andrew Cruger may have thought in his inner consciousness on the subject of his son's engagement to Helene Stanton, he outwardly showed no sign that he was not well pleased. He simply gave the consent that Beverly asked of him, and accepted the new condition as another event in the continuity of life. "Of course there can be no formal engagement until her father returns from Europe," said he.

"Can't we get his consent by cable?" asked his son.

"I don't believe in these irregularities," said the elder Cruger, whose diplomatic training had made him something of a stickler for formality and precedent. "There will be time enough for that when he returns."

Beverly submitted without another word, for he felt that his father had already given way to him a good deal. The young people did not cable to Mr. Stanton for his consent, for all agreed that there would be time enough to acquaint him with the fact when he returned. Whatever Mr.

Cruger's mental att.i.tude toward the engagement might have been his manner toward Helene was most cordial. As for Beverly's mother, she was delighted beyond all words.

"The dear, dear girl, how I shall love her!" she said to Beverly, on hearing the news. And after she had showered mother kisses, plentifully mixed with mother tears, on them both, her happiness was well-nigh complete.

That afternoon the Crugers were to make a formal call on Helene.

Andrew Cruger had finally yielded to his son's entreaties and consented to call on her, notwithstanding the fact that Mr. Stanton was still in Europe and his formal consent had not been obtained.