"She doesn't look the part she plays by day, does she?" he said to
Richard. "Curious, how times have changed. In my day a teacher looked a
teacher every minute of her time. One stood in awe of her--or
him--particularly of her. A prim, stuff gown, hair parted in the middle
and drawn smoothly away"--his glance wandered from Roberta's ivory neck
to the dusky masses of her hair--"spectacles, more than likely--with
steel bows. And a manner--ye gods--the manner! How we were impressed by
it! Well, well! Fine women they were and true to their profession. These
modern girls who look younger than their pupils--" He shook his head
with an air of being quite in despair about them.

"Uncle Calvin," said Roberta, demurely, with her hand upon his arm, "do
tell Mr. Kendrick about your teaching school 'across the river' when you
were only sixteen years old."

And, of course, that settled the chance of Richard's hearing anything
about Roberta's teaching, for, though Judge Gray was called out of the
room in the midst of his story, Stephen and Louis came up and joined the
group and switched the talk a thousand miles away from schools and
school-teaching.

Presently there was music again, and this time Richard found himself
sitting beside young Mrs. Stephen Gray. Between numbers he found
questions to ask, which she answered with evident pleasure.

"These three must have been playing together a good many years?"

"Dear me, yes--ever since they were born, I think. They do make real
harmony, don't they?"