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Updated: July 11, 2025
The discord and clatter uptown offended his nice ear; so a friend had sent him to this oasis in the desert of noise. Ramonti, with his still youthful face, his dark eyebrows, his short, pointed, foreign, brown beard, his distinguished head of gray hair, and his artist's temperament revealed in his light, gay and sympathetic manner was a welcome tenant in the old house near Abingdon Square.
Worse still, in the last one she had lost a customer, too. Business languished, and she hung out a Room to Let card. Two large rooms on the third floor were prepared for desirable tenants. Roomers came, and went regretfully, for the house of Mrs. Barry was the abode of neatness, comfort and taste. One day came Ramonti, the violinist, and engaged the front room above.
It took her by surprise. The musician had become a big factor in her life, and she hadn't been aware of it. "Mr. And then she told him the sad story of her life, as a heroine must do, sooner or later, either to a theatrical manager or to a reporter. Ramonti took her hand, bowed low and kissed it, and went up to his room. Helen sat down and looked mournfully at her hand. Well she might.
One evening Ramonti stopped in Helen's hall-office-reception-room and told his love with the tenderness and ardor of the enraptured artist. His words were a bright flame of the divine fire that glows in the heart of a man who is a dreamer and doer combined.
"But before you give me an answer," he went on, before she could accuse him of suddenness, "I must tell you that 'Ramonti' is the only name I have to offer you. My manager gave me that. I do not know who I am or where I came from. My first recollection is of opening my eyes in a hospital. I was a young man, and I had been there for weeks. My life before that is a blank to me.
There she kept her desk and wrote her business letters; and there she sat of evenings by a warm fire and a bright red light and sewed or read. Ramonti found the atmosphere so agreeable that he spent much time there, describing to Mrs. Barry the wonders of Paris, where he had studied with a particularly notorious and noisy fiddler.
Barry I do not know your name except that I love you; the first time I saw you I realized that you were the one woman in the world for me and" oh, a lot of stuff like that. Helen felt young again. First a wave of pride and a sweet little thrill of vanity went all over her; and then she looked Ramonti in the eyes, and a tremendous throb went through her heart. She hadn't expected that throb.
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