hordes were dispersing across the plaza, pouring from the auditorium. As she stepped into the bitterly chill air and started down the stairs, a voice hailed her from behind. 

 "Are you alone, then, Miss Haviland?" 

 Gretchen whirled around at the sound of the professor's voice, in time to see him laugh briefly. He was standing just outside the doors, facing outward, his greatcoat pulled tightly around himself. 

 Gretchen went to stand on the step below.  "Actually, yes," she replied, looking up.  "I am alone. I came by myself on a whim." 

 "It's quite chilly this evening," he said, stepping down once. They started down the stairs beside each other.  "Would you fancy a cup of coffee, by chance, before making your way home?" 

 Gretchen smiled. He certainly had a forward manner; but she found it refreshing, and—after all, she had really been seeking him, had she not?  "Why, that sounds like a delightful diversion, Professor. I believe I shall." 

 With that, they set off together across the plaza. Gretchen started immediately upon a likely topic of conversation:  the concert they had just attended. It was instantly evident that Professor Bridwell had found the Liszt etudes as breathtaking as she had. And during the Vivaldi, as well, he agreed that he had felt a sudden chill at precisely the same time as she. 

 "The ensemble did well," she concluded.  "I suppose that is the way Vivaldi would have heard the work too—none of these large, modern orchestras quite out of proportion to the delicacy of the music." 

 "The modern orchestra," stated the professor, "is well enough suited for modern works, but really, the intimacy required for performing earlier works—as Vivaldi for instance—is really lost in the great crowd of strings." 

 "Agreed." 

 Presently they came to the campus gates and found their way to a small café. Seated at a tiny marble table, they had a delightful tête-à-tête, and found much to agree upon regarding both the performance, and the subject of music in general. Though he had not quite her madness for Liszt, he agreed with Gretchen's assessment of the "Transcendental Etudes"—divinely inspired, and, like much of Liszt's work, nearly beyond the reach of mortals. 

 Gretchen was on her second coffee and feeling rather giddy. She could hardly hold her 

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