two recitals in New York in November, to devote
himself to his new students until spring, and then to go on a short
concert tour. The Harsanyis had taken a furnished apartment in New York,
as they would not attempt to settle a place of their own until Andor's
recitals were over. The first of December, however, Thea received a note
from Mrs. Harsanyi, asking her to call at the old studio, where she was
packing their goods for shipment.

The morning after this invitation reached her, Thea climbed the stairs
and knocked at the familiar door. Mrs. Harsanyi herself opened it, and
embraced her visitor warmly. Taking Thea into the studio, which was
littered with excelsior and packing-cases, she stood holding her hand
and looking at her in the strong light from the big window before she
allowed her to sit down. Her quick eye saw many changes. The girl was
taller, her figure had become definite, her carriage positive. She had
got used to living in the body of a young woman, and she no longer tried
to ignore it and behave as if she were a little girl. With that
increased independence of body there had come a change in her face; an
indifference, something hard and skeptical. Her clothes, too, were
different, like the attire of a shopgirl who tries to follow the
fashions; a purple suit, a piece of cheap fur, a three-cornered purple
hat with a pompon sticking up in front. The queer country clothes she
used to wear suited her much better, Mrs. Harsanyi thought. But such
trifles, after all, were accidental and remediable. She put her hand on
the girl's strong shoulder.

"How much the summer has done for you! Yes, you are a young lady at
last. Andor will be so glad to hear about you."

Thea looked about at the disorder of the familiar room. The pictures
were piled in a corner, the piano and the CHAISE LONGUE were gone. "I
suppose I ought to be glad you have gone away," she said, "but I'm not.
It's a fine thing for Mr. Harsanyi, I suppose."

Mrs. Harsanyi gave her a quick glance that said more than words. "If you
knew how long I have wanted to get him away from here, Miss Kronborg! He
is never tired, never discouraged, now."

Thea sighed. "I'm glad for that, then." Her eyes traveled over the faint
discolorations on the walls where the pictures had hung. "I may run away
myself. I don't know whether I can stand it here without you."

"We hope that you can come to New York to study before very long. We
have thought of that. And you