d and touching in
it, had never occurred to her. It is a truism to say that in our social
code the value of a man's character is determined by his position; and
fine traits in a foreigner (unless he should happen to be something very
great) strike us rather as part of a supposed mental alienism, and as
such, naturally suspicious. It is rather disgraceful than otherwise
to have your music teacher in love with you, and critical friends will
never quite banish the suspicion that you have encouraged him.

Edith had, in her first delight at the discovery of Halfdan's talent,
frankly admitted him to a relation of apparent equality. He was a man
of culture, had the manners and bearing of a gentleman, and had none
of those theatrical airs which so often raise a sort of invisible wall
between foreigners and Americans. Her mother, who loved to play the
patron, especially to young men, had invited him to dinner-parties and
introduced him to their friends, until almost every one looked upon him
as a protege of the family. He appeared so well in a parlor, and had
really such a distinguished presence, that it was a pleasure to look
at him. He was remarkably free from those obnoxious traits which
generalizing American travelers have led us to believe were inseparable
from foreign birth; his finger-nails were in no way conspicuous; he did
not, as a French count, a former adorer of Edith's, had done, indulge an
unmasculine taste for diamond rings (possibly because he had none); his
politeness was unobtrusive and subdued, and of his accent there was just
enough left to give an agreeable color of individuality to his speech.
But, for all that, Edith could never quite rid herself of the impression
that he was intensely un-American. There was a certain idyllic
quiescence about him, a child-like directness and simplicity, and a
total absence of "push," which were startlingly at variance with the
spirit of American life. An American could never have been content to
remain in an inferior position without trying, in some way, to better
his fortunes. But Halfdan could stand still and see, without the
faintest stirring of envy, his plebeian friend Olson, whose education
and talents could bear no comparison with his own, rise rapidly above
him, and apparently have no desire to emulate him. He could sit on a
cricket in a corner, with Clara on his lap, and two or three little
girls nestling about him, and tell them fairy stories by the hour, while
h