It was while buoyed up by his "great expectations," and flattered by the attentions which strangely enough began to be extended toward him by some of the "best men"—who also were stockholders in the new sugar-refining process—that Leonhard took a room at the Granby House, and began to manifest a waning interest in his work as a music-master.
This display of himself, modest though it was, cost money. Before the letter quoted was written Leonhard had begun to feel a little troubled: he had been obliged to add two thousand dollars to his original investment, and the thought that possibly there might be a demand for a yet further sum—for some unforeseen difficulty had arisen in the matter of machinery—had fixed in his mind a misgiving to which at odd moments he returned with a flutter of spirits amounting almost to panic.
On the promenade he met Miss Ayres. She stood before the window of a music-dealer's shop, looking at the photograph of some celebrity—a tall and not too slightly-formed young lady, attired in a buff suit with brown trimmings, and a brown hat from which a pretty brown feather depended. On her round cheeks was a healthy glow, deepened perhaps by exercise on that warm afternoon, and a trifle in addition, it may be, by the sound of footsteps advancing. Yet as Leonhard approached, she, chancing to look around, did not seem surprised that he was so near. Not that she expected him! What reason had she for supposing that from his office-window he would see her the instant she turned the corner of Granby street and walked down the avenue fronting the parade-ground? No reason of course; but this had happened so many times that the meeting of the two somewhere in this vicinity was daily predicted by the wise prophets of the street.
A rumor was going about A—— in those days which occasioned the mother of our young lady a little uneasiness. When Leonhard came to A—— it was to live by his profession—music. He was an enthusiast in the science, and the best people patronized him. He might have all the pupils he pleased now, and at his own prices, thought Mrs. Washington Ayres, who had herself taught music: why doesn't he stick to his business? But then, she reminded herself, they say he has money; and he is so bewitched about architecture that he can't let it alone. Too many irons in the fire to please me! Perhaps, though, if he has money, it makes not so much difference. But I don't like to see a young man dabbling in too many things: it looks as if he would never do anything to speak of. It is the only thing I ever heard of against him; but if he can't make up his mind, I don't know as there could be anything much worse to tell of a man.
She was not far wrong in her thinking, and she had seen the great fault in the character of young Mr. Marten. It was his nature to take up and embrace cordially, as if for life, the objects that pleased him. Perhaps the tendency conduced to his popularity and reputation as a music-master, for his acquaintance with the works of composers was really vast; but the effect of it was not so hopeful when it set him to studying a difficult art almost without instruction, in the confidence that he should soon by his works take rank with Angelo, Wren and other great masters.
At the music-dealer's window Mr. Leonhard stood for a moment beside Miss Marion, and then said with a queer smile, "How cool it looks over yonder among the trees! I wish somebody would like to walk there with an escort."
"Anybody might, I should think," answered the young lady. "I have waded through hot dust, red-hot dust, all the afternoon. Besides, I want to ask you, Mr. Marten, what it means. Everybody is coming to me for lessons. Are you refusing instruction, or are you growing so unpopular of late? I have vexed myself trying to answer the question."
"They all come to you, do they? Yes, I think I am growing unpopular. And I am rather glad of it, on the whole," answered Leonhard, not quite clear as to her meaning, but not at all disturbed by it.
"I know they must all have gone to you first," she said. "Of course they all went to you first, and you wouldn't have them."
Leonhard smiled on. Her odd talk was pleasant to him, and to look at her bright face was to forget every disagreeable thing in the world. "You know I have been thinking that I would give up instruction altogether," said he; "but I suppose that unless I actually go away to get rid of my pupils, I shall have a few devoted followers to the last. The more you take off my hands the better I shall like it."