"
This last utterance was a reflection rather than a remark.
Mary made no reply. She did not care to have the last word; nor
did she fancy her cause lost when she had not at hand the answer
that befitted folly. She ran down the stair, and at the bottom
stood waiting her new acquaintance, who descended more slowly,
careful not to make a noise.
She could now see, by the gaslight that burned on the landing, a
little more of what the man was. He was powerfully built, rather
over middle height, and about the age of thirty. His complexion
was dark, and the hand that held the bow looked grimy. He bore
himself well, but a little stiffly, with a care over his violin
like that of a man carrying a baby. He was decidedly handsome, in
a rugged way--mouth and chin but hinted through a thick beard of
darkest brown.
"Come this way," said Mary, leading him into Letty's parlor. "I
will tell my friend you are come. Her room, you see, opens off
this, and she will hear you delightfully. Pray, take a seat."
"Thank you, miss," said the man, but remained standing.
"I have caught the bird, Letty," said Mary, loud enough for him
to hear; "and he is come to sing a little to you--if you feel
strong enough for it."
"It will do me good," said Letty. "How kind of him!"
The man, having heard, was already tuning his violin when Mary
came from the bedroom, and sat down on the sofa.
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