"No," said The Author, bitterly, "but I have. That's why I am forever plagued with strangers. That's why, when I discover a place and people that suit me to perfection, I can't keep 'em to myself!

Oh, da--drat it all, anyhow!"

"But they aren't coming to see you. They're coming to see Hynds House," Alicia reminded him soothingly. "Besides, I don't think they're the sort of folks that care much for authors," she finished, encouragingly.

"They'll care about _me_" grumbled The Author glumly. "But let 'em come and be hanged to them! I shall take--"

"Soothing syrup?"

"Long walks!" snarled The Author. "I shall work all night and be invisible all day."

The Westmacotes, as Alicia said, didn't greatly care for authors, though they sat up and took polite notice of this one. (One owed that to one's self-respect.) Only Miss Emmeline paid more than pa.s.sing attention to him, though her interest really centered in Mr.

Nicholas Jelnik, who was dining with us that night, as was Doctor Richard Geddes.

Mr. Jelnik's presence had the effect of lightening The Author's gloom. His eyes brightened, his dejection changed into alertness, and there began that subtle game of under-the-surface thrust and parry that seemed inevitable when the two met. Mr. Westmacote listened with quiet enjoyment. His dinner was to his taste, Hynds House more than came up to his expectations, Alicia was Cinderella after the fairy's wand had pa.s.sed over her, _I_ had ceased to be a mere person and become a personage; and he found here such men as Doctor Geddes, The Author, and Nicholas Jelnik. The Head smiled at his wife, and was at peace with the world.

Miss Emmeline had already discovered the Lowestoft and Spode pieces in our built-in cupboards; that there were two perfect apostle jugs in the cabinet in the hall: that our Chelsea figures were lovelier than any she had heretofore seen; and that Hynds House, in which everything was genuine, had an atmosphere that appealed to her soul, or maybe matched her clear-green aura. Anyhow, the house reached out for Miss Emmeline as with hands and laid its spell upon her enduringly.

She sat beside me, with Alicia's pet alb.u.m of Confederate generals on her knees.

"I never thought I'd have a sentimental regard for rebels," she confessed. "But, oh, they were gallant and romantic figures, when one looks at their old photographs here in Hynds House. I am Ma.s.sachusetts to the bone, but I don't want to hear 'Marching through Georgia' while I'm here!"

Mr. Jelnik, overhearing her, laughed. "Perhaps I may find for you something more in keeping with Hynds House," he said, and sauntered over to the old piano. Unexpectedly it came to life. And he began to sing:

It was the silent, solemn hour When night and morning meet, In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, And stood at William's feet.

Her face was like an April morn Clad in a wintry cloud: And clay-cold was her lily hand, That held her sable shroud.

The Author shaded his eyes with his hand, his gaze riveted upon the singer. Alicia leaned forward, lips parted, face like an uplifted flower, eyes large with wonder and delight. The Confederate generals slid from Miss Emmeline's lap and lay face downward, forgotten.

Westmacote's faded little wife, who had no children, crept closer to her big husband; and gently, un.o.btrusively, he reached out and took her hand in his warm grasp.

Why did you promise love to me And not that promise keep?

Why did you swear mine eyes were bright, Yet leave those eyes to weep?

Why did you say my face was fair, And yet that face forsake?

How could you win my virgin heart, Yet leave that heart to break?

I am sure there is no lovelier and more touching ballad in all our English treasury than that sad, simple, and most beautiful old song.

And he had set it to an air as simple and as perfect as its own words, an old-world air that suited it and his rich and flexible voice.

"Why, Jelnik!" exclaimed Doctor Geddes, in a voice of pure astonishment, "I knew you could tinkle out a tune on a piano, but, man, I didn't dream it was in you to sing like this!" And he stared at his cousin.

"I'd make bold to swear that Mr. Jelnik has a dozen more surprises up his sleeve, if he chose to let us see them," The Author said pleasantly.

"My father's system of education included music. For which I praise him in the gates," Mr. Jelnik replied casually.

"'Tinkle out a tune on a piano'!" breathed Alicia, and cast a look of deep disdain upon the blundering doctor. "Why, I've never in all my life heard anybody sing like that!"

But I saw him through a mist, and felt my heart ache and burn in my breast, and wondered what he was doing here in my house that might have been his house, and how I was going to walk through my life after he had gone out of it.

I had a wild desire to run outside into the dark night and the hushed garden, away from everybody and weep and weep, despairingly.

Because a veil had been torn from my eyes this night, and I knew that the cruellest thing that can happen to a woman had happened to me. There could be but one thing more bitter--that he or anybody else in the world should know it.

So I sat there, dumb, while everybody else said pleasant things to him, their voices sounding afar, far off.

After a while we went into the living-room where our new piano is, and he played for us--Hungarian things, I think. Then he drifted into Chopin, and Alicia stood by and turned his music for him.

"Those two," whispered Miss Emmeline, "are the most idyllic figures I have ever seen." I think she sighed as she said it. "Youth is the most beautiful thing in the world," she added.

The Westmacotes, weary after a long journey, retired early. Mr.

Jelnik and Doctor Geddes had gone off together. The secretary had to finish a chapter. The Author lingered to ask, oddly enough, if I had the original plan of Hynds House. Did I know who designed it?

"Why don't you interview Judge Gatch.e.l.l?"

"I did. He was polite and friendly enough, but knows no more than is strictly legal. He told me he found Hynds House here when he arrived and expected to leave it here when he departed. And Geddes knows no more. Geddes isn't interested in Hynds House by itself,"

finished The Author, with a crooked smile.

"Perhaps Mr. Jelnik may have some family papers."

"Perhaps he may. I'd give something for a whack at those papers, Miss Smith."

"Why not ask him to let you see them, then?"

"Tut, tut!" said The Author, crossly, and took himself off.

When I was kimonoed, braided, and slippered, Alicia in like raiment came in from her room next to mine, sat down on the floor, and leaned her head against my knees, with her cheek against my hand.

For a while, as women do, we discussed the events of the evening.

Both of us had deep cause for gratification; yet both of us were strangely subdued.

"Sophy, Peac.o.c.ks and Ivory is a very wonderful person, isn't he?"

hesitated Alicia, after a long pause. She didn't lift her head; and the cheek against my hand was warmer than usual.

"Yes," I agreed, quietly, "so wonderful that something never to be replaced will have gone out of our lives when he goes away, and doesn't come back any more. For that is what the Nicholas Jelniks do, my dear."

"Is it?" Again she spoke after a pause. "I wonder! Somehow, I--Sophy, he belongs here. He's--why, Sophy, he's a part of the glamour."

"I'm afraid glamour hasn't part nor place in plain folks' lives."

"But we aren't plain folks any more, either, Sophy," she insisted.

"Why--why--_we're_ part of the glamour, too!"

"That is just about half true."

Alicia ignored this. She asked, instead:

"Did you hear what that great blundering doctor said about tinkling out a tune on a piano?"

I could hear Mr. Jelnik praised by her or doubted by The Author. But somehow I could not bear any criticism of Doctor Geddes just then. I said stiffly:

"I have learned to appreciate Doctor Geddes."