Presently the tutor came in from the hall by the door near the piano, and sat down by it without being asked, and began to play softly, as if not to interrupt the game of cards.  I could not help thinking in what good taste this was, since he had promised not to wait for any more importunities.  The game at cards soon languished, for Charlotte Benson really had an enthusiasm for music, and was not happy till she was at liberty to give her whole attention to it.  As soon as the players were released, Kilian came over and sat beside me.  He rather wearied me, for I wanted to listen to the music, but he was determined not to see that, and chattered so that more than once Charlotte Benson turned impatiently and begged us not to talk.  Once Mr. Langenau himself turned and looked at us, but Kilian only paused, and then went on again.

Mary Leighton had fled to the piano and was gazing at the keys in a rapt manner, hoping, no doubt, to rouse Kilian to jealousy of the tutor.

“Please go away,” I said at last, “this is making me seem rude.”

“Do not tell me,” he exclaimed, “that you are helping Mary Leighton and Sophie to spoil this German fellow.  I really did not look for it in you.  I—­”

“I can’t stay here and be talked to,” I said, getting up in despair.

“Then come on the piazza,” he exclaimed, and we were there almost before I knew what I was doing.

I suppose every one in the room saw us go out:  I was in terror when I thought what an insult it would seem to Mr. Langenau.  We walked about the piazza for some time; I am afraid Mr. Kilian found me rather dull, for I could only listen to what was going on inside.  At last he was called away by a man from the stable, who brought some alarming account of his beloved Tom or Jerry.  If I had been his bride at the altar, I am sure he would have left me; being only a new and very faintly-lighted flame, he hurried off with scarcely an apology.

I sat down in a piazza-chair, just outside the window at which we had been sitting.  I looked in at the window, but no one could see me, from the position of my chair.

Presently Mr. Langenau left the piano, and Mary Leighton, talking to him with effusion, walked across the room beside him, and took her seat at this very window.  He did not sit down, but stood before her with his hat in his hand, as if he only awaited a favorable pause to go away.

“Ah, where did Pauline go?” she said, glancing around.  “But I suppose we must excuse her, for to-night at least, as he has just come home.  I imagine the engagement was no surprise to you?”

“Of what engagement do you speak?” he said.

“Why!  Pauline and Richard Vandermarck; you know it is quite a settled thing.  And very good for her, I think.  He seems to me just the sort of man to keep her steady and—­well, improve her character, you know.  She seems such a heedless sort of girl.  They say her mother ran away and made some horrid marriage, and, I believe, her uncle has had to keep her very strict.  He is very much pleased, I am told, with marrying her to Richard, and she herself seems very much in love with him.”