Vaguely comforted, but with the light gone out of her day of days, Harmony went down the three long flights and out into the brightness of the winter day.

On the Ring she almost ran into Peter.  He was striding toward her, giving a definite impression of being bound for some particular destination and of being behind time.  That this was not the case was shown by the celerity with which, when he saw Harmony, he turned about and walked with her.

“I had an hour or two,” he explained, “and I thought I’d walk.  But walking is a social habit, like drinking.  I hate to walk alone.  How about the Frau Professor?”

“She has taken me on.  I’m very happy.  But, Dr. Byrne—­”

“You called me Peter last night.”

“That was different.  You had just proposed to me.”

“Oh, if that’s all that’s necessary—­” He stopped in the center of the busy Ring with every evident intention of proposing again.

“Please, Peter!”

“Aha!  Victory!  Well, what about the Frau Professor Bergmeister?”

“She asks so many questions about America; and I cannot answer them.”

“For instance?”

“Well, taxes now.  She’s very much interested in taxes.”

“Never owned anything taxable except a dog—­and that wasn’t a tax anyhow; it was a license.  Can’t you switch her on to medicine or surgery, where I’d be of some use?”

“She says to-morrow we’ll talk of the tariff and customs duties.”

“Well, I’ve got something to say on that.”  He pulled from his overcoat pocket a largish bundle—­Peter always bulged with packages—­and held it out for her to see.  “Tell the Frau Professor Bergmeister with my compliments,” he said, “that because some idiot at home sent me five pounds of tobacco, hearing from afar my groans over the tobacco here, I have passed from mere financial stress to destitution.  The Austrian customs have taken from me to-day the equivalent of ten dollars in duty.  I offered them the tobacco on bended knee, but they scorned it.”

“Really, Peter?”

“Really.”

Under this lightness Harmony sensed the real anxiety.  Ten dollars was fifty Kronen, and fifty Kronen was a great deal of money.  She reached over and patted his arm.

“You’ll make it up in some way.  Can’t you cut off some little extravagance?”

“I might cut down on my tailor bills.”  He looked down at himself whimsically.  “Or on ties.  I’m positively reckless about ties!”

They walked on in silence.  A detachment of soldiery, busy with that eternal military activity that seems to get nowhere, passed on a dog-trot.  Peter looked at them critically.

“Bosnians,” he observed.  “Raw, half-fed troops from Bosnia, nine out of ten of them tubercular.  It’s a rotten game, this military play of Europe.  How’s Jimmy?”

“We left him very happy with your letter.”

Peter flushed.  “I expect it was pretty poor stuff,” he apologized.  “I’ve never seen the Alps except from a train window, and as for a chamois—­”