defiance."

"I was sure of it," he responded in amused tones. "But now"--striking
a match and holding it for her to light her cigarette--"you will smoke
because you really like it, and because it would be a friendly action
and condone the fact that you are being held a prisoner against your
will."

Sara smiled.

"It is a very charming prison," she said, contemplating the harmony of
the room with satisfied eyes.

"You like it?" he asked eagerly.

She looked at him in surprise. What could it matter to him whether she
liked it or not?

"Why, of course, I like it," she replied. "Who wouldn't? You see," she
added a little wistfully, "I have no home of my own now, so I have to
enjoy other people's."

"I have no home, either," he said shortly.

"But--but this----"

"Is the house in which I live. One wants more than a few sticks of
furniture to make a home."

Sara was struck by the intense bitterness in his tone. Truly this man,
with his lightning changes from boorish incivility to whole-hearted
hospitality, from apparently impenetrable reserve to an almost desperate
outspokenness, was as incomprehensible as any sphinx.

She hastily steered the conversation towards a less dangerous channel,
and gradually they drifted into the discussion of art and music;
and Sara, not without some inward trepidation--remembering Molly's
experience--touched on his own musicianship.

"It was surely you I herd?" she queried a trifle hesitatingly. "You
were playing some Russian music that I knew. Your man ordered me off the
premises"--smiling a little--"so I didn't hear as much as I should have
liked."

"Is that a hint?" he asked whimsically.

"A broad one. Please take it."

He hesitated a moment. Then--

"Very well," he said abruptly.

He rose and led the way into an adjoining room.

Like the hall they had just quitted, it was pleasantly illumined by
candles in silver sconces, and had evidently been arranged to serve
exclusively as a music-room, for it contained practically no furniture
beyond a couple of chairs, and a beautiful mahogany cabinet, of which
the doors stood open, revealing sliding shelves crammed full of musical
scores.

A grand piano was so placed that the light from either window or candles
would fall comfortably upon the music-desk; and on a stool beside it
rested a violin case.

Trent opened the case, and, lifting the violin from is cushiony bed of
padded satin, fingered it caressingly.

"Can you re