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dancing. Its owner kept jerking at its collar, which would set it off balance, and my aunt burst into laughter to see its clumsy attempts to keep its feet.
    For some reason I did not enjoy the performance as I should have done. I had seen the brute's eyes as it stumbled. I knew it was only a dumb beast, without feelings; as Mr. Pomeroy said, it probably quite enjoyed being made to perform. But something in that look, from eyes as dull as unpolished pebbles, made me uncomfortable.
    I dreamed of the bear that night, and woke feeling quite low. I could not recall exactly what I had dreamed. The chain, and certain rough, bare patches in the bear's dry fur were part of it, though, and then there was something about a chain on my neck. I made myself forget it; the ball was only a day away. So it was a surprise to me when, in the course of my music lesson that afternoon, I suddenly burst into tears.
    Ferdinand went pale. His long white hands fluttered like birds, not daring to touch, but hovering all about me. Misunderstanding my distress, he thought he had said something to offend me; and as my tears subsided a trifle, I recalled enough of my feeble Italian to realize that his attempts at consolation were too warm for propriety.
    'Cara ... mio tesoro ... bellissima. ..'
    I straightened. I had flung myself picturesquely across the harp, and although it was a pretty pose, the frame made an uncomfortable dent in my body.
    'Don't distress yourself,' I said, sniffing. 'You did nothing. I don't know why—I think it was seeing that nasty animal.'
    I told him about the bear. I didn't think it was the cause of my tears, but I had to say something to relieve his anxieties. As he listened, his blue eyes flooded with tears. He was a very emotional man.
    'You are all heart,' he exclaimed, 'all tenderness. To subject you to such a sight! Ah, these cold calloused Englishmen, they do not understand such a heart as yours. Do not weep'—for his sympathy had brought me a fresh flood of tears—'ah, do not weep, carissima. I cannot bear your tears...'
    We were both weeping, copiously, so his admonition went disregarded. Our overflowing eyes met; I saw him through a watery blur, and something very strange happened inside me. Slowly I rose to my feet; slowly his slim white hands reached out. In the next moment we were in each other's arms.
    It was the first time a man had held me close. My knees grew weak. I had never imagined it would be so pleasurable. I clung to him...
    In the hallway beyond the closed doors of the drawing room, a servant dropped a tray. We sprang apart as though pushed by unseen hands. Shaken now by a storm of vastly different emotion, I stared wildly. My handsome Ferdinand dropped to his knees.
    'Oh get up, I beg you,' I exclaimed, in an agony of apprehension. 'What if someone should come!'
    Ferdinand got to his feet. Giving me a look of wild despair, he flung himself across the pianoforte, his face hidden in his arms. From between the black coat sleeves a voice, muffled by emotion and broadcloth, exclaimed,
    'Ah, what have I done? To dare to touch...'
    He stood upright, a frozen statue of despair. 'I will destroy myself!'
    His tears made his eyes look bigger and bluer; he was one of those fortunate people who can weep without leaving any disfiguring swelling or redness. I knew from past experience that I was not so fortunate, and I was suddenly conscious of my swollen eyes. That awareness, and another sound from the hall, destroyed every emotion except consternation.
    'Please,' I stuttered. 'Don't talk so. Think of me!'
    'Ah!' Ferdinand drew himself up to his full height and clutched his bosom. He looked so handsome. 'I think of nothing else! That is my tragedy, my despair___But I must be strong. I must live and endure this agony. And you—you would grieve, just a little, for the poor music master, you who shed your lovely tears for a poor dumb beast?'
    'Oh,' I breathed rapturously. It was just like a scene in a novel, I