rom seeing her, you know," McLean persisted. "I've
got to put this thing to her. She's got to choose."

"What alternative have you to suggest?"

"I'd marry her if she'd have me."

After all Peter had expected that. And, if she cared for the boy
wouldn't that be best for her? What had he to offer against that? He
couldn't marry. He could only offer her shelter, against everything
else. Even then he did not dislike McLean. He was a man, every slender
inch of him, this boy musician. Peter's heart sank, but he put down his
pipe and turned to the door.

"I'll call her," he said. "But, since this concerns me very vitally, I
should like to be here while you put the thing to her. After that if you
like--"

He called Harmony. She had given Jimmy his supper and was carrying out a
tray that seemed hardly touched.

"He won't eat to-night," she said miserably. "Peter, if he stops eating,
what can we do? He is so weak!"

Peter, took the tray from her gently.

"Harry dear," he said, "I want you to come into the salon. Some one
wishes to speak to you."

"To me?"

"Yes. Harry, do you remember that evening in the kitchen when--Do you
recall what I promised?"

"Yes, Peter."

"You are sure you know what I mean?"

"Yes."

"That's all right, then. McLean wants to see you."

She hesitated, looking up at him.

"McLean? You look so grave, Peter. What is it?"

"He will tell you. Nothing alarming."

Peter gave McLean a minute alone after all, while he carried the tray
to the kitchen. He had no desire to play watchdog over the girl, he told
himself savagely; only to keep himself straight with her and to save
her from McLean's impetuosity. He even waited in the kitchen to fill and
light his pipe.

McLean had worked himself into a very fair passion. He was intense,
almost theatrical, as he stood with folded arms waiting for Harmony. So
entirely did the girl fill his existence that he forgot, or did not care
to remember, how short a time he had known her. As Harmony she dominated
his life and his thoughts; as Harmony he addressed her when, rather
startled, she entered the salon and stood just inside the closed door.

"Peter said you wanted to speak to me."

McLean groaned. "Peter!" he said. "It is always Peter. Look here,
Harmony, you cannot stay here."

"It is only for a few hours. To-morrow some one is coming. And, anyhow,
Peter is going to Semmering. We know it is unusual, but what can we do?"

"Unusual! It's--it's