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Both the girls laughed outright, and even the Scientist smiled.

"Then it is yours?" he said, turning to the other.

"The andante? Yes. I was trying to play it before dinner, but it needs the violin."

"Yes. It needs the violin."

The mother leaned forward eagerly. "And do you play?"

"A little." The Scientist blushed at the admission.

The hostess clapped her hands in a plump, joyous way.

"Now, is n't that perfect! There's Hal's violin in the camp loft. Run, Henrietta, and get it."

They rose from ths table and grouped about the fire in the other room. And when the violin had been brought in, and a string mended, and it had been tuned, Ethelberta and the Scientist played the andante, the Scientist leaning over the full, rounded shoulder and following the score with swift, short-sighted glance. The light from the candles fell on the room, bringing out shadows and faint color.

Across the room, Henrietta, on a low bench, with her knees drawn up and her eyes half shut, played with the long, silky ears of a huge dog that lounged against her. He pushed affectionately nearer to her, his breath coming in soft pants. Henrietta patted his head and sat up, looking vaguely about. The music was full of witchery. It played among the half-lighted shadows. She rose, stretched herself, and wandered across the room, standing for a moment by the door and looking into the darkness. The great dog followed her, leaping upon her.

"Down, Buff!" she said softly.

II

When Mrs. Tryon opened her eyes she looked about with a little expression of dismay.

"Where is Henrietta?" she demanded.

The music had ceased, and the players came across to the fire. Ethelberta glanced at the low seat.

"She's run away," she said, smiling. "I thought she could stand the Schubert. But you never can tell." The tall clock chimed nine o'clock softly, and she looked up. "Nine o'clock. I must run over a minute to see Mary. I promised her."

She went into the hall for a wrap, and her mother's eyes followed her, comfortably vexed.

"It's a friend that's been ill," she explained. "Their camp is next ours. It's only a step. And how stupid in Henrietta to go off! Do you smoke?"

The Scientist looked up gratefully. "I—er—sometimes."

She pulled open a drawer in the library table, and took out a brown box, proffering it to him.

His eye lighted as he saw the mark. He took one with thin, careful fingers and stood rolling it absently, a look of contentment in his face.

She watched him with an amused smile. "You may smoke it," she said.

He looked about him. "Here?"

"Here or outdoors, as you please. The nights are very beautiful with us, so dry and clear. Henrietta is constantly roaming about in them." There was half-apology and half-pride in the tone.

"Is it quite safe?" ventured the Scientist.

"Safe? Oh, perfectly! She always has Buff, and this is America, you know."

"Yes."

He stood waiting an instant, rolling the cigar thoughtfully in his fingers. Then he strolled out through the open door into the starlit night. When the cigar was lighted he slipped the ends of his thumbs into his pockets and wandered about, smoking tranquilly and looking up to the stars. He could see them quite plainly. They were far enough away from his short-sighted eyes to seem near. The night was very still, and soft sounds pattered through it—the breath of pine boughs, the chirp of insects, and a distant murmur of water down below somewhere. Then another sound broke upon it—a soft panting, and hurrying thuds, a sound of running breath, and quick, laughing footsteps.

A girl's figure flitted through the shrubbery at the right, the dog's huge shadow loping behind. It disappeared in the direction of the house, and stillness settled upon the night. The Scientist strolled and smoked and looked at the stars.

When at last he threw away the end of the cigar and turned toward the house, lights glimmered in two of the upper windows.