Miss Stanton took off her gloves and began to play. She had hardly struck the opening chords of a simple pianoforte piece when there came a knock at the door. Before Von Barwig could speak a man entered. She stopped playing and Von Barwig's heart sank as he recognised the collector for the pianoforte house.
"I am engaged, sir. If you please, another time!"
"I've called for the piano," said the man, taking some papers out of his pocket.
"Another time, for God's sake!" pleaded Von Barwig. "Please go on, Miss Stanton."
"I want the piano or the money," said the man automatically.
"I have not—now. To-morrow I will call."
"The money or the piano is my instructions," said the collector. Von Barwig stood as if stricken dumb. The shame, the degradation were too great. He appealed to the man with outstretched hands. Tears were in his eyes, but the man did not look at him; he went into the hall, opened the front door, and yelled out, "Come on, Bill——"
Miss Stanton arose from the piano and walked over to the window. "It is a very busy view from here, isn't it?" she said; "gracious, how crowded the streets are!"
Poor Von Barwig's cup of misery was now full. She had been a witness of his poverty. His lies about his success and his pupils were all laid bare to her; he was disgraced forever in her eyes. He had lied to her, and she had found him out.
The collector came back with the men and the process of moving the piano began. Von Barwig's sense of humour came to his rescue.