thoroughly understand the conversation
of these people. They seemed to have come out of another world to
astonish and bewilder her. She knew that some of the men present were
noblemen, and saw that their manners, and even the tones of their
voices, changed when they addressed her.

From the secluded life she had led, this girl was incapable of making
quick comparisons. She only knew that none of these men possessed the
gentle tenderness or the proud bearing of the teacher, who had become to
her a beau-ideal of true manhood. Of all the men present she felt the
most sympathy with Hepworth Closs. He had been in America, had known the
places she loved so well, and could understand her loneliness in a scene
like that; but there was something even in this man that startled her a
little.

His fine eyes were frequently lifted to her face with a look that
troubled her, a look that seemed to go beyond her and far away into the
past or future. What was he thinking of? Why were his answers about
America so dreamy and vague? Why did he look so sad while the voice of
Olympia was filling the whole house with such glorious bursts of music?

Before she could answer any of these questions, Olympia arose from the
piano, and, with a light wave of her hand, said:

"Come, Caroline, let them hear what is in your voice."

How careless and natural it all seemed! What a tumult of smiles and
entreaties followed these few caressing words!

They were words of iron to that proud, shrinking girl. She knew how much
of stern, selfish power lay under the peach-like softness of that voice.
Her color went and came; her lips parted in absolute terror. She
understood now why she had been permitted to join her mother's guests
for the first time.

"Come, my darling!"

Olympia's voice grew softer, sweeter; but there was an undertone in it
that Caroline dared not disobey. She arose, white and cold, her limbs
trembling, her eyes turned upon Olympia like those of a hunted doe
appealing for its life; but there was no relenting in that beautiful
face--nothing but smiles.

Hepworth Closs saw how cruelly the proud girl suffered, and was by her
side in an instant. The firm clasp of his hand, as he led her to the
piano, gave her strength. She thanked him with a look, and those
frightened eyes implored him to stay by her, as if he were the only
friend she recognized in the room.

It must be a terrible fright that can entirely overcome real genius.

The fir