"I _had_ to kill him!" said Tom. "He almost got me, and anyway we couldn't have managed but four. All the same," he added, his eyes still on the bronzed face in the glass, "it is not precisely a ducal countenance that will greet you, Kitty my dear. Will you mind very much? You shall have the silks and satins all right, little girl.
"'38 for to wear, And a coach and six for to take the air.'"
(I wonder what I shall find at the station: Flanagan, I suppose, with the 'speed hoss.' I'll walk, if it holds up a bit.)
"'And she shall drive in St. James's Square, And no lady in the city shall with her compare--'"
Tom started, and turned in his seat, to behold a bearded and spectacled person of studious appearance, quivering with some strong emotion.
The gentleman's aspect relaxed slightly: Tom's speaking voice was of delightful quality, cordial and musical.
"Oxcuse me, sair!" the bearded one repeated. "I am a musician!"
Tom bowed slightly. "Awfully jolly, I'm sure!" he murmured. "Must be an interesting profession."
"Zat air zat you sing," the gentleman continued, "it is _nossing_: but nossing at all! it is no composeetion! _ça m'agace les nerfs, jusqu' à la frénesie_----"
Tom spoke excellent French. He was extremely sorry to have offended a musical ear; he was humming unconsciously. He explained that the air was an ancient one: an old English folk-song and dance.
"Ah!" the clouded brow cleared instantly. English! that explained itself. A great nation, but unmusical. Still, the song of the people, that revealed the heart; he in return asked a thousand pardons. Let Monsieur, he begged, continue to carol the artless chant of our Saxon neighbor highly respected. He begged, he insisted. Come, then! Let us hear the little air! it might--who knew?--be arranged----
The musician rose precipitately. His station! he was desolated to conclude an acquaintance so auspiciously begun. He gave piano lessons in Tinkham! His card: M. Anatole Beaulieu. _Peutêtre_----
Tom sat down laughing. "Five minutes more, and we should have been swearing eternal friendship and singing the 'Marseillaise.' Nice little fellow! give me the Caucasian every time! Only ten minutes now! I wonder if she'll like----"
Mr. Lee cast a surreptitious glance around him. There were very few people in the car now, and nobody was paying any attention to him. (The Vassar freshman had got out, with a backward glance.) He furtively drew from an inside pocket a small case, and inspected its contents. It certainly was a good stone: _vieille roche_, the Peking jeweler assured him, and he believed it. The setting was good, too; he thought she would like the setting. Of course nothing was good enough for Kitty, but----