“Don’t you remember my laughing, once, at school, over the story about Alcibiades’ refusing to learn to play on the flute, because he deemed the necessary puckering of the mouth undignified, and that you thought he was right? Heroes, my dear, according to your romantic notions, must always be heroic.”
“Heroes!” exclaimed Mary, with wide-eyed innocence. “Who, pray, mentioned heroes!” But a heightened color tinged her cheeks.
Alice, without making reply, placed her hand over Mary’s heart, and stood as though counting its beats. “’Tis a dear little heart,” mused she, “but—”
“But what?”
“But very susceptible, I fear.” And lifting her right hand, she shook her forefinger at her friend. “Take care!” said she, with a voice and look half serious, half jocular.
“Oh, don’t be uneasy about me!” And with a bright smile on her flushed face Mary frisked away to join some of the other girls who were descending to the breakfast-room.
Falling in love is like getting drunk,—we blush when we betray symptoms of the malady, yet rejoice in its progress!
CHAPTER XXXVII.
We now return to our friends assembled in the Hall.
Especially among the ladies who had not heard the Don’s first performance, expectation was on tiptoe. The excellent Herr is bustling about, rubbing his hands, and smiling through his spectacles the vast Teutonic smile. Charley places the case containing the Guarnerius upon the table. The Don opens it with an almost nervous eagerness. She is to hear him, and he will outdo himself.