and began to do
what I disliked. By the time I had begun to get a little into training
three years had passed--these things are not accomplished in a day, and
the effects of twenty-seven years of selfishness are not killed soon. I
was killing them, and becoming a machine in the process.

"One year the Lower Rhenish Musikfest was to be held at Koeln. Long
before it came off the Cologne Orchestra had sent to us for contingents,
and we had begun to attend some of the proben regularly once or twice a
week.

"One day Friedhelm and I had been at a probe. The 'Tower of Babel' and
the 'Lenore' Symphony were among the things we had practiced. Both of
them, the 'Lenore' particularly, had got into my head. I broke lose for
one day from routine, from drudgery and harness. It was a mistake.
Friedhelm went off, shrugging his dear old shoulders, and I at last
turned up, mooning at the Koelner Bahnof. Well--you know the rest. Nay,
do not turn so angrily away. Try to forgive a fallen man one little
indiscretion. When I saw you I can not tell what feeling stole warm and
invigorating into my heart; it was something quite new--something I had
never felt before: it was so sweet that I could not part with it.
Fraeulein May, I have lived that afternoon over again many and many a
time. Have you ever given a thought to it?"

"Yes, I have," said I, dryly.

"My conduct after that rose half from pride--wounded pride, I mean, for
when you cut me, it did cut me--I own it. Partly it arose from a
worthier feeling--the feeling that I could not see very much of you or
learn to know you at all well without falling very deeply in love with
you. You hide your face--you are angry at that--"

"Stop. Did you never throughout all this give a thought to the
possibility that I might fall in love with you?"

I did not look at him, but he said, after a pause:

"I had the feeling that if I tried I could win your love. I never was
such a presumptuous fool as to suppose that you would love me
unasked--or even with much asking on my part--_bewahre!_"

I was silent, still concealing my face. He went on:

"Besides, I knew that you were an English lady. I asked myself what was
the right thing to do, and I decided that though you would consider me
an ill-mannered, churlish clown, I would refuse those gracious, charming
advances which you in your charity made. Our paths in life were destined
to be utterly apart and divided, and what could it matter to you--the