fee in the Winter Garden, sir? Mr. Gessner always
does."

"Cannot I have it in the garden?"

"Oh, yes, if you like, sir. We'll carry out a chair--the seats are very
damp at night, sir."

Alban smiled. Was he not sleeping on the reeking floor of the caves but
twenty hours ago.

CHAPTER IX

ANNA GESSNER

They set a table in the vestibule overlooking the trim lawn, and thither
they carried cigars and coffee. Alban had learned to smoke fiercely--one
of the few lessons the East End had taught him thoroughly--and Richard
Gessner's cigars had a just reputation among all who frequented the
House of the Five Gables--some of these, it must be confessed, coming
here for no other particular reason than to smoke them. Alban did not
quite understand what it was that differentiated this particular cigar
from any he had ever smoked, but he enjoyed it thoroughly and inhaled
every whiff of its fragrant bouquet as though it had been a perfume of
morning-roses.

A profound stillness, broken at rare intervals by the rustling of young
leaves, prevailed in the garden. Night had come down, but it was a night
of spring, clear and still and wonderful of stars. Distantly across a
black waste of heath and meadow, the spire of Harrow Church stood up as
a black point against an azure sky. The waters of the Welsh Harp were as
a shimmering lake of silver in the foreground; the lights of Hendon and
of Cricklewood spoke of suburban life, but might just as well have
conjured up an Italian scene to one who had the wit to imagine it. Alban
knew nothing of Italy, he had never set foot out of England in his
life, but the peace and the beauty of the picture impressed him
strangely, and he wondered that he had so often visited the Caves when
such a fairyland stood open to his pleasure. Let it not be hidden that
he would have been easily pleased this night. Youth responds quickly to
excitements of whatever nature they may be. He was as far from realizing
the truth of his position as ever, but the complete change of
environment, the penetrating luxury of the great house, the mystery
which had carried him there and the promise of the morrow, conspired to
elate him and to leave him, in the common phrase, as one who is walking
upon air. Even an habitual cynicism stood silent now. What mattered it
if he awoke to-morrow to a reality of misunderstanding or of jest? Had
not this night opened a vista which nothing hereafter might shut out?
And the trut