s
tiptoes.

He placed his hands under his chin and listened. Gertrude was crying. It
was an even and touching cry, not so much filled with grief as her sobs
generally were, and seemed to be expiratory rather than the reverse.

As Jordan let the lonely, unhappy, and impenetrable life of his daughter
pass by him in mental review, he became painfully aware of the fact that
this was the first time in her life that she had ever heard real music.
"Is it possible?" he asked. He tried to think of another time that would
make him disbelieve the accuracy of his unpleasant observation.

He said to himself: Her case is simple; the hitherto unknown sweetness
and power concealed in the ensemble playing of the violins, the euphony
of the orchestra, and the beauty of the melody with all its fateful
directness has made the same impression on her that the sunlight makes
on a person from whose eyes a cataract has just been removed. Her soul
has suffered from hunger; that is where the trouble lies. She has
struggled too fiercely with the incomprehensible and the intangible.

His instinct of love told him that the best thing to do was to let her
cry. It will do her good; it will relieve her soul. He pulled a chair up
to her door, sat down, and listened. When he could no longer hear her
crying, his heart grew easier.

XII

Eleanore was right. Her father was quite pleased to see Daniel and
Benda. "I am proud of you," he said to Daniel, "and for your visit to me
I thank you. I feel flattered."

"If you had stayed a half hour longer, you might feel differently about
it," replied Daniel.

Eleanore gave her father a brief account of what had taken place at the
concert. Jordan listened attentively, looked at Daniel, and, with a
wrinkle on his forehead, said, "Is it possible?"

"Yes, it is possible; it had to happen," said Daniel.

"Well, if it had to happen, it is a good thing that it is over," was the
dispassionate response.

Eleanore took her father's hand; the back of it was covered with big
yellow spots; she kissed it. Then she set the table, got everything
ready for the meal, went in and out of the room in a most cheerful way,
and did not forget to put the water on the stove to boil. She had asked
about Gertrude as soon as she came home, but for some reason or other
her father seemed disinclined to say anything on the subject, from which
Eleanore inferred that there was nothing seriously wrong.