Flaxman's remark a short time before, and repeated it to him.
"I do not think I shall ever have paternal feelings towards you,
Medoline, I am not old enough for that. Tell Mrs. Flaxman, if she speaks
that way again, I am not anxious for her to fasten in your heart filial
affection for me."
"But we may be just as much to each other as if you were my own father?"
I pleaded.
"Quite as much," he said, with emphasis. I forgot my tears; for some way
my heart had got so strangely light and glad, tears seemed an unnecessary
incumbrance; and even the thought that had been awaked by the disturbing
harmonies of Beethoven's majestic conceptions were folded peacefully away
in their still depths again.
CHAPTER XIII.
ALONE WITH HIS DEAD.
At breakfast Mr. Winthrop was more insistent in his curiosity about the
concert of the previous evening. Mrs. Flaxman assured him that we were
all agreeably disappointed in our evening's entertainment.
"Mr. Bovyer was especially charmed with Medoline's appreciation of his
favorite composer. He asked permission to call on her to-day."
He gave me a keen glance, saying: "I hope you did not grow too
enthusiastic. One need not hang out a placard to prove we can comprehend
the intricate and profound."
Mrs. Flaxman answered hastily for me.
"No, indeed; she was too quiet; and only Mr. Bovyer and myself detected
the tears dropping behind her fan. But Mr. Bovyer seemed gratified at the
meaning he read from them."
My face was burning; but after a few seconds' silence I stole a glance
at Mr.
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