rows; not books with ornamental bindings, but books for
use, books that had been and were being used. By way of
furniture there were an immense lounge, wide and long and
deep, facing the left chimney piece, an immense table desk
facing the north light, three great chairs with tall backs,
one behind the table, one near the end of the table, the third
in the corner farthest from the window; a grand piano, open,
with music upon its rack, and a long carved seat at its
keyboard. The huge window had a broad sill upon which was
built a generous window garden fresh and lively with bright
flowers. The woodwork, the ceiling, the furniture were of
mahogany. The master of this splendid simplicity was dressed
in a blue house suit of some summer material like linen. He
was smoking a cigarette, and offered her one from the great
carved wood box filled with them on the table desk.

"Thanks," said she. And when she had lighted it and was
seated facing him as he sat at his desk, she felt almost at
her ease. After all, while his gaze was penetrating, it was
also understanding; we do not mind being unmasked if the
unmasker at once hails us as brother. Brent's eyes seemed to say
to her, "Human!--like me." She smoked and let her gaze wander
from her books to window garden, from window garden to piano.

"You play?" said he.

"A very little. Enough for accompaniments to simple songs."

"You sing?"

"Simple songs. I've had but a few lessons from a small-town teacher."

"Let me hear."

She went to the piano, laid her cigarette in a tray ready
beside the music rack. She gave him the "Gipsy Queen," which
she liked because it expressed her own passion of revolt
against restraints of every conventional kind and her love for
the open air and open sky. He somehow took away all feeling
of embarrassment; she felt so strongly that he understood and
was big enough not to have it anywhere in him to laugh at
anything sincere. When she finished she resumed her cigarette
and returned to the chair near his.

"It's as I thought," said he. "Your voice can be trained--to
speak, I mean. I don't know as to its singing value. . . .
Have you good health?"

"I never have even colds. Yes, I'm strong."

"You'll need it."

"I have needed it," said she. Into her face came the sad, bitter
expression with its curious relief of a faint cynical smile.

He leaned back in his chair and looked at her through a cloud
of smoke. She saw that h