There was a piano in the back parlor. Florence removed her gloves, and taking a seat before it, dashed into a spirited selection from Strauss. Mrs. Leighton listened with surprised approval. "Certainly you are a fine performer," she said. "What--if I should engage you--would you expect in the way of compensation?" "How much time would you expect me to give?" "Three hours daily--from nine to twelve." "I hardly know what to say. What did you expect to pay?" "About fifty cents an hour." Florence knew very well, from the sums that had been paid for her own education, that this was miserably small pay; but it was much more than she could earn by sewing. "I will teach a month on those terms," she said, after a pause. Mrs. Leighton looked well pleased. She knew that she was making a great bargain. "Oh, by the way," she said, "can you give references?" "I can refer you to Madam Morrison," naming the head of a celebrated female seminary. "She educated me." "That will be quite satisfactory," said Mrs. Leighton, graciously. "Can you begin to-morrow?" "Yes, madam." "You will then see your pupil. At present she is out." Florence bowed and withdrew. She had been afraid Mrs. Leighton would inquire where she lived, and she would hardly dare to name the humble street which she called home. She walked toward Fifth Avenue, when, just as she was turning the corner, she met Mr. Percy de Brabazon, swinging a slender cane, and dressed in the extreme of the fashion. "Miss Linden!" he exclaimed, eagerly. "This is--aw--indeed a pleasure. Where are you walking this fine morning? May I--aw--have the pleasure of accompanying you?"