her," Joyselle said, nearly
braining an old lady with his violin-case as he swung round to speak.
"And they will be sitting by the fire, and I--who was going to spend the
night at the Duke of Cumberland's--will appear, and after we have
embraced, hey, presto--I produce you--Diana--his _adoree_--my daughter."

The old lady, who was engaged to nobody (and who, what was much worse,
never had been), resented his loud voice and his way of handling his
violin-case as if it had been a baby. "Sir," she said, "you are crowding
me."

"_Sacre nom d'une pipe_--I beg your pardon, madame, but you must not
push that box. You must not _touch_ it," he returned, all his smiles
gone and a ferocious frown joining his big black eyebrows. "It contains
my violin, madame, my Amati!"

Brigit, convulsed with laughter, laid her hand on his arm as if she had
known him for years, and he became like a lamb at her touch.

"I beg your pardon, madame," he added, smiling angelically (and an
angelic smile on a dark, middle-aged face is a very winning thing), "I
will put it over here."

Then, his beloved fiddle safe from profane touch, he again turned to
Brigit.

CHAPTER SIX

Number 57 Golden Square was dark when Joyselle's cab stopped in front of
it, and he, after tenderly depositing his violin-case under the little
portico, assisted Brigit to alight. "They are, of course, in the
kitchen," he remarked as he paid the cabby. "Come, _ma belle_."

She followed him as if she were in a dream, watching him open the door
with a latchkey, after a frantic search for that object in all his
pockets, tiptoeing after him as, a finger to his lips, a delighted,
boyish smile crinkling his eyelids, he led her down the narrow,
oilclothed passage.

"Why are they in the kitchen?" she asked, as excited as he.

"It is nearly eight; she is busy with supper."

Even in the dim light of the single gas burner Brigit caught at once the
predominating note of the house: its intense and wonderful cleanliness.
The walls, painted white, were snowy, the chequered oilcloth under her
feet as spotless as if it had that moment come from the shop, and the
slender handrail of the steep staircase glanced with polish, drawing an
arrow of light through the dusk.

Putting his violin-case on the table, Joyselle took off his hat and with
some difficulty pulled his arms out of his greatcoat sleeves. Then,
taking his guest by the arm, he very softly opened the door leading to
th