CHAPTER V.—“A NOTHING STARTS THE SPRING.”
ANOTHER week slipped away. The weather changed. There was rain almost every day, and a persistent wind blew from the north-east. So the loggia of No. 43 Beekman Place was not much patronized. Nevertheless, Arthur heard Mrs. Lehmyl sing from time to time. When he would reach home at night, he generally ensconced himself near to a window at the front of the house; and now and then his vigilance was encouraged by the sound of her voice.
Hetzel, of course, ran him a good deal. He took the running very philosophically. “I admit,” he said, “that she piques my curiosity, and I don’t know any reason why she shouldn’t. Such a voice, joined to such beauty and intelligence, is it not enough to interest any body with the least spark of imagination? When are you going to call upon them?” But Hetzel was busy. “Examinations are now in full blast,” he pleaded. “I have no leisure for calling on any one.”
“‘It sometimes make a body sour to see how things are shared,’.rdquo; complained Arthur. “To him who appreciates it not, the privilege is given; whereas, from him who would appreciate it to its full, the privilege is withheld. I only wish I had your opportunity.”
Hetzel smiled complacently.
“And then,” Arthur went on, “not even an occasional encounter in the street. Every day, coming and going, I cherish the hope that we may meet each other, she and I. Living so close together, it would be but natural if we should. But I’m down in my luck. We might as well dwell at the antipodes, for all we gain by being near neighbors. Concede that Fate is deucedly unkind.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Hetzel, reflectively. “Perhaps Fate is acting for the best. My private opinion is that the less you see of that woman, the better for you. You’re a pretty susceptible young man; and those eyes of hers might play sad havoc with your affections.”
“That’s just the way with you worldly, practical, materialistic fellows. You can’t conceive that a man may be interested in a woman, without making a fool of himself, and getting spoony over her. You haven’t enough spiritualism in your composition to realize that a woman may appeal to a man purely on abstract principles.”
Hetzel laughed.
“You’re a cynic,” Arthur informed him.