age and talk with the "ladies-in-waiting,"
as he called the pretty woman and child. Once or twice Sylvia was
transferred to the front seat beside Peter, the negro driver, on the
ground that she could watch the horses better, and they took Professor
Saunders for a drive through the flat, fertile country, now beginning
to gleam ruddy with autumnal tints of bronze and scarlet and gold.
Although she greatly enjoyed the social brilliance of these occasions,
on which Aunt Victoria showed herself unexpectedly sprightly and
altogether enchanting, Sylvia felt a little guilty that they did not
return to pick up Professor Marshall, and she was relieved, when they
met at supper, that he made no reference to their defection.

He did not, in fact, mention his assistant's name at all, and yet he
did not seem surprised when Professor Saunders, coming to the Sunday
evening rehearsal of the quartet, needed no introduction to his
sister, but drew a chair up with the evident intention of devoting
all his conversation to her. For a time this overt intention was
frustrated by old Reinhardt, smitten with an admiration as unconcealed
for the beautiful stranger. In the interval before the arrival of the
later members of the quartet, he fluttered around her like an ungainly
old moth, racking his scant English for complimentary speeches. These
were received by Aunt Victoria with her best calm smile, and by
Professor Saunders with open impatience. His equanimity was not
restored by the fact that there chanced to be rather more general talk
than usual that evening, leaving him but small opportunity for his
tete-a-tete.

It began by the arrival of Professor Kennedy, a little late, delayed
at a reunion of the Kennedy family. He was always reduced to bilious
gloom by any close contact with that distinguished, wealthy, and much
looked-up-to group of citizens of La Chance, and this evening he
walked into the front door obviously even more depressed than usual.
The weather had turned cool, and his imposingly tall old person was
wrapped in a cape-overcoat. Sylvia had no fondness for Professor
Kennedy, but she greatly admired his looks and his clothes, and his
handsome, high-nosed old face. She watched him wrestle himself out of
his coat as though it were a grappling enemy, and was not surprised at
the irritability which sat visibly upon his arching white eyebrows.
He entered the room trailing his 'cello-bag beside him and plucking
peevishly at its draws