tness when my son entered
the apartment, the faint shade of shyness in his manner of addressing
her attracted me curiously. He began to linger in our haunts so long and
on such frivolous pretexts, that I began seriously to think what was to
be done with such a lovesick page. To oppose Fred would be worse than
useless. Opposition determined him. If I could have sent her away,
solitude would be my bane; for not one of the Fontevraults could I
endure. Then as I pondered, I laughed at the absurdity of the whole
thing. Not only was Leonora older than the student, a woman in society,
but she had been engaged (with that fact I resolved to frighten Fred),
nor would she wait five years for him to declare his passion. And his
flickering fancy the slightest breath of doubt would change: a nature
easily moulded by the inexorable. I resolved to let affairs take their
own course, and trust her common sense, and my own gentle diplomacy.

What memorable meetings had we four during those sharp winter days! I
lived as in an Arabian dream. There was Denis Christopher, with his
brown face and thrilling eyes; Fred lackadaisical, but handsome as
Antinous; Leonora, and I.

A very orderly company, but what hot feeling repressed, what romantic
possibility, what fates unfulfilled lay under the courteous
conventionality of the time! Fred leaned over Leonora at the piano.
Their voices sounded well together, and if he could not declare his
admiration of her, no doubt he conveyed it to her in some tender refrain
or serenade. Their blended, passionate voices often moved me in a
strange excitement, for I was not musical. I had no way of relieving
myself, as these singers and painters have, who crystallize an emotion
or a sorrow into a picture or a cadence. I can only gnaw the bedpost, or
tear up something, in the mere need of expression. Denis watched them
awhile, and then it became a trio instead of a duet. Mr. Christopher
brought Spanish music. Light, rippling airs, dances, whose strange
swaying rhythm had been borne to his ears in the Malaga nights.

My son grew jealous, therefore unreasonable. He would not play
subordinate, so left Leonora no choice but to lend herself gracefully to
Denis's companionship. These two were sure to misunderstand one another.
Fred was contradictory. With intense and variable feeling, he possessed
the traits of slower natures. A kind of natural prudence retarded him.
He puzzled Leonora. One moment he cooed over her, t