Part 4 (2/2)

He looked at her with a sudden, unexpected softening of his somber eyes. ”Do you know, Barbara Marshall, that there are times when you keep one unhappy old misanthrope from despairing of his kind?”

She had at this unlooked-for speech only the most honest astonishment.

”I don't know what you're talking about,” she said bluntly.

Judith stirred in her sleep and woke up blinking. When she saw that Professor Kennedy had come in, she did what Sylvia would never have dared do; she ran to him and climbed up on his knee, laying her s.h.i.+ning, dark head against his shoulder. The old man's arms closed around her. ”Well, spitfire,” he said, ”_comment ca roule_, eh?”

Judith did not trouble herself to answer. With a gesture of tenderness, as unexpected as his speech to her mother, her old friend laid his cheek against hers. ”You're another, Judy, _You'll_ never marry a dolichocephalic blond and make him pull the chestnuts out of the fire for you, will you?” he said confidently.

Mrs. Marshall rose with the exasperated air of one whose patience is gone. She made a step as though to s.h.i.+eld her husband's sister from the cantankerous old man. ”If I hear another word of argument in this house tonight--” she threatened. ”Mr. Reinhardt, what are these people _here for_?”

The musician awoke, with a sigh, from his dazzled contemplation of his host's sister, and looked about him. ”Ach, yes! Ach, yes!”

he admitted. With a glance of adoration at the visitor, he added impressively what to his mind evidently signified some profoundly significant tribute, ”Dis night we shall blay only Schubert!”

Sylvia heaved a sigh of relief as the four gathered in front of the music-racks at the other end of the room, tuning and sc.r.a.ping. Young Mr. Saunders, evidently elated that his opportunity had come, leaned toward Aunt Victoria and began talking in low tones. Once or twice they laughed a little, looking towards Professor Kennedy.

Then old Reinhardt, gravely pontifical, rapped with his bow on his rack, lifted his violin to his chin, and--an obliterating sponge was pa.s.sed over Sylvia's memory. All the queer, uncomfortable talk, the unpleasant voices, the angry or malicious or uneasy eyes, the unkindly smiling lips, all were washed away out of her mind. The smooth, swelling current of the music was like oil on a wound. As she listened and felt herself growing drowsy, it seemed to her that she was being floated away, safely away from the low-ceilinged room where personalities clashed, out to cool, star-lit s.p.a.ces.

All that night in her dreams she heard only old Reinhardt's angel voice proclaiming, amid the rich murmur of a.s.sent from the other strings:

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER VI

THE SIGHTS OF LA CHANCE

One day at the end of a fortnight, Aunt Victoria and Arnold were late in their daily arrival at the Marshall house, and when the neat surrey at last drove up, they both showed signs of discomposure. Discomposure was no unusual condition for Arnold, who not infrequently made his appearance red-faced and sullen, evidently fresh from angry revolt against his tutor, but on that morning he was anything but red-faced, and looked a little scared. His stepmother's fine complexion, on the contrary, had more pink than usual in its pearly tones, and her carriage had less than usual of sinuous grace. Sylvia and Judith ran down the porch steps to meet them, but stopped, startled by their aspect. Aunt Victoria descended, very straight, her head high-held, and without giving Sylvia the kiss with which she usually marked her preference for her older niece, walked at once into the house.

Although the impressionable Sylvia was so struck by these phenomena, that, even after her aunt's disappearance, she remained daunted and silent, Judith needed only the removal of the overpowering presence to restore her coolness. She pounced on Arnold with questions. ”What _you_ been doing that's so awful bad? I bet _you_ caught it all right!”

”'Tisn't me,” said Arnold in a subdued voice. ”It's Pauline and old Rollins that caught it. They're the ones that ha' been bad.”

Judith was at a loss, never having conceived that grown-ups might do naughty things. Arnold went on, ”If you'd ha' heard Madrina talking to Pauline--say! Do you know what I did? I crawled under the bed--honest I did. It didn't last but a minute, but it scared the liver out o'

me.” This vigorous expression was a favorite of his.

Judith was somewhat impressed by his face and manner, but still inclined to mock at a confession of fear. ”Under the _bed_!” she sneered.

Arnold evidently felt the horror of the recently enacted scene so vividly that there was no room for shame in his mind. ”You bet I did!

And so would you too, if you'd ha' been there. _Gee_!”

In spite of herself Judith looked somewhat startled by the vibration of sincerity in his voice, and Sylvia, with her quick sympathy of divination, had turned almost as pale as the little boy, who, all his braggart turbulence gone, stood looking at them with a sick expression in his eyes.

”Was it in your room?” asked Judith. ”I thought Pauline's room was on the top floor. What was she doing down there?”

”No, it was in old Rollins' room--next to mine. I don't know what Pauline was doing there.”

”What did Pauline do when Aunt Victoria scolded her?” asked Sylvia.

She had come to be fond of the pretty young maid with her fat, quick hands and her bright, warm-hearted smile for her mistress' little niece. One day, when Mrs. Marshall-Smith had, for a moment, chanced to leave them alone, Pauline had given her a sudden embrace, and had told her: ”At 'ome zere are four leetle brozers and sisters. America is a place mos' solitary!” ”What did Pauline do?” asked Sylvia again as Arnold did not answer.

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