As the heavy door closed behind Millicent, Mrs. Lumbard straightened up. How could Miss Frink reasonably criticize her for civility to the young girl, although the mandate just expressed revealed an objection? “Disagreeable old thing!” reflected AdÈle, while her face expressed only deferential attention.

She expected to see her hostess disappear as usual in the direction of the study; but instead, Miss Frink, eyeing her steadily, came and took the chair Millicent had vacated, and began at once to speak: “The presence of a sick person in the house throws out the general routine,” she said. “I have really been very anxious until now about Mr. Stanwood; but he is coming out all right and now I can give my mind to your affairs. You said your idea in coming here was to get me to help you decide what to do. I presume you have been studying on your problem. Have you come to any conclusion?”

Mrs. Lumbard blinked under the unexpected attack, and for a minute could not find the right words to reply to the entirely impersonal and businesslike regard bent upon her.

“You are young,” went on Miss Frink. “You are an expert musician. My house is a very dull place for you to live.” AdÈle wondered if Leonard had quoted her. “You must have been revolving some plans in your mind. I can give my full attention to you now. Speak on.”

Oh, how hard it was to speak under that cool gaze; since she could not say, “Yes, this house is a regular morgue, but my luxurious bed and your perfect cook reconcile me to staying here.” There was nothing in Miss Frink’s manner to suggest that she had any idea that this guest might make an indefinite stay.

Mrs. Lumbard’s face maintained its deferential look and her voice took the childlike tone she could use at will. “A spineless tone,” Miss Frink dubbed it mentally. She rebuked herself for not liking AdÈle, but the latter’s love of idle luxury “thundered above” her inefficient meekness, and not all of Susanna’s still green memory of her Alice could antidote her distaste for the young woman’s lack of energy.

“To tell the truth,” said AdÈle slowly, “it has been so wonderful to be in a safe, quiet harbor that I have given up to the refreshment of it for this little while, and just enjoyed your sweet hospitality. I think I have been unconsciously waiting for just such a moment as this, when your experience and wise thought could direct me—”

“No, no, child, don’t talk that way. A woman of your age shouldn’t need directing—”

Miss Frink paused, for a servant entered the hall, and went past them to the door.

As he opened it John Ogden entered, a suitcase in his hand. At sight of his hostess he paused in announcing himself.

“Well, Miss Frink,” he exclaimed, as the servant took the suitcase, “I counted on your not minding a surprise party, for I found it was possible to come at once.”

The two women rose, and AdÈle saw that the mistress of the house could be cordial if she wished to.

Scarcely had Ogden dropped Miss Frink’s hand when he realized her companion. “Why, Mrs. Reece,” he said, in a changed tone, “what a surprise to find you here—away from your sunny South,” he added hastily, fearing his amazement betrayed more than he wished.

AdÈle, coloring to the tips of her ears, shook hands with him and murmured something which Miss Frink’s brusque tone interrupted.

“Stebbins,” she said to the servant, “Mr. Ogden will have the green room. Show him to it, and when he is ready take him to Mr. Stanwood at once. Mr. Ogden, you are more than welcome, and I know you will do Mr. Stanwood a world of good. I will see you a little later.”

When the guest had vanished up the stairs, Miss Frink resumed her seat and her companion sank into hers, as pale as she had been scarlet.

“I suppose you can explain,” said Miss Frink.

“Mr.—Mr. Ogden never met me after my second marriage,” said AdÈle faintly.

“The first one died, I hope.”

“I suppose you know why you are so rough, Aunt Susanna.” AdÈle was evidently controlling tears.

“Well, you know how I feel. I like the sod kind better than grass. Never mind my bluntness, child. That’s neither here nor there. Mr. Reece left you something?”

“His life insurance, yes.”

“Then it was all gone, I suppose, when you decided to try again, and drew a blank in the matrimonial market.”

“Yes—almost,” faltered AdÈle.

“Then, did the unpleasant ceremony you were forced to go through afterward result in your getting any alimony?”

“A—a very little.”

Miss Frink’s lips twitched in her peculiar smile. “And you still had some life insurance from number one. You’re a fast worker, AdÈle.”

At this the tears came.

“Now, don’t cry,” said Miss Frink impatiently. “You can do that later. I was wondering if you would care for a position in Ross Graham’s. I took Miss Duane away from the gloves, and I told them not to fill the place at once.”

The young widow’s angry breath caught in her throat, but she stammered meekly:

“And go on—living here?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be willing to do that, would you?” said Miss Frink reasonably.

“Would you want Miss Frink’s niece to be selling gloves in her store?”

“Ho!” exclaimed the other with a short laugh. “Miss Frink herself sold candy and cake and waited on table and was glad when she got a tip, and everybody in town knows it.”

AdÈle’s cheeks burned again. “It would be foolish not to utilize my music,” she said. “Since you have no pride in the matter, no doubt there are movie theaters in Farrandale, and I can perhaps play in one.”

The young woman got the reaction she was trying for.

“No, you can’t,” returned Miss Frink promptly. “That’s where I draw the line. Let the men do that.”

Mrs. Lumbard rose. “Please excuse me,” she said faintly. It was the psychological moment. She had put Miss Frink in the wrong. Let her reflect a little. She knew the conscientious fairness under that rough husk. “I feel ill, Aunt Susanna,” she faltered. “I should like to lie down for a while.”

Her handkerchief to her eyes she passed up the broad staircase, Miss Frink looking after her, and feeling baffled.

“Yes, you’d like to lie down the rest of your life,” she declared mentally. It was too bad that Alice Ray could not have given the legacy of her splendid backbone to her descendants. “It’s tiresome, too,” added Miss Frink to herself. “I meant her to play to the boy about now; but I suppose she’s got to snivel just so long.”

There being no tears behind Mrs. Lumbard’s handkerchief, she was herself when in the dim large hall above she met Mr. Ogden and the butler coming out of the green room.

“You can go,” she said hurriedly to the latter. “Mr. Ogden and I are old friends, Stebbins. I will show him Mr. Stanwood’s room.”

The man bowed and departed.

“Mr. Ogden, I’m not Mrs. Reece—that is, you know, not any more.” She gave a nervous little laugh. “I’m—I’m Mrs. Lumbard now.”

Ogden bowed. “I’ll remember. Such matters are very quickly arranged, these days. I’m sorry not to have been up-to-date.”

She forced another little laugh at this.

“You know Aunt Susanna is a lady of the old school and she detests—er—second marriages, and things like that—divorces and everything. You understand.”

“Your aunt!” exclaimed Ogden in amazement. “Well, I am indeed ’way, ’way behind the times. I had no idea Miss Frink had a niece and, and—”

“Least of all, me, I suppose,” put in AdÈle, laughing again.

“Your little girl, is she here?”

“Oh, never mind about the baby either, Mr. Ogden, please. You see, Aunt Susanna is so peculiar, and we’ve always been strangers. I haven’t even told her about the baby. I didn’t want to annoy her by bringing a child here. Just don’t know anything, please, except that I’m Mrs. Lumbard now, and you met me in Atlanta, and never say a word about what I was doing, because she would faint away at a mention of the stage, and I don’t want to offend her.”

“I understand perfectly.” Ogden bowed gravely. He thought he did.

At this moment Leonard Grimshaw, always silent-footed as a cat, appeared in the dimness of the hall, coming from his room. AdÈle had no means of knowing whether he had heard any of their talk, but was alertly conscious that he must notice the intimacy of their position as they stood conversing in hushed tones like a pair of conspirators.

“Oh, it’s Mr. Grimshaw,” she said lightly. “Perhaps you know—”

“Indeed, I do,” said Ogden, and the two men approached and shook hands.

“We expected you Thursday,” said the secretary, with a formal bow.

“And I hope Miss Frink will forgive my impatience. She says she will.”

“Mr. Ogden and I were so surprised to see each other,” said AdÈle. “We met in Atlanta through our interest in music. You came in the nick of time, Leonard. Stebbins was just going to take Mr. Ogden to Mr. Stanwood’s room and I intercepted him. Now you will do it.”

The secretary bowed again. “If that is Miss Frink’s wish.”

“Both Miss Frink’s and mine,” said Ogden pleasantly. “I understand the boy has provided a good deal of excitement in this corner of the world.”

“One can’t help being ill,” said Grimshaw stiffly, “but it is astonishing how that sort of thing permeates a house and changes its routine.”

Ogden’s fist doubled as he followed his guide, but he made no reply. The secretary as usual forgot to knock at the door of the White Room, and throwing open the door ushered in the guest.

Miss Damon had gone downstairs, and there sat the convalescent in the big chair by the window. Ogden gasped. The secretary stared.

Freshly shaved, the rich folds of the dressing-gown about him, his feet in the glinting mules on the footrest, his handsome head leaning against the white upholstery of the armchair, he formed a picture which filled one of his guests with enthusiasm, and the other with fury.

“Is this the Rajah of Nankagorah!” cried Ogden.

Hugh’s heart leaped with a combination of joy and rage. It was ages since he had seen a soul who knew him, and here was the reason. He wanted to hug him. He wanted to choke him.

He kicked away the stool, pulled himself to his feet and showed his teeth in a snarling sort of smile. “Damn you, Ogden!” he said.

John Ogden laughed and, striding forward, threw an arm around the satin-clad shoulders.

“Which is the safe hand? Which arm was it?” he asked.

“They’re both safe to do for you one of these days,” returned Hugh, clutching his friend.

The secretary waited for no more. The apparition of Miss Frink’s extravagance and its stunning effect roused a fever of resentment in him. He went out and closed the door. He continued to stand outside it for a minute, but the old house was well built and the voices within were low. He moved away and downstairs, and was just in time to see Miss Frink going out the front door, attired in wrap and hat.

“Dear lady, aren’t you coming into the study?”

“Some time,” she replied lightly. “I made a purchase by ’phone this morning and I want to look at it before it is sent up. Have you seen Mr. Ogden?”

“Yes, I’ve just taken him to Mr. Stanwood’s room.”

“I suppose the boy was delighted to see him.”

“I don’t know. He swore like a trooper,” replied the secretary with a righteous, long-suffering lift of his crest.

The lady of the old school looked pensive, and smiled.

“Can the boy swear? What a naughty boy!” she said. “I imagine he looks handsomer than ever when he is excited.”

Grimshaw’s full lips tightened as he escorted her out to the carriage.

“Breaking. Breaking fast,” he thought, and he made up his mind to be on the lookout for the bill for that dressing-gown. As a matter of fact, he never did see it. In some way Miss Frink managed to extract that from the usual routine.

“What is she up to now?” he muttered, watching the spirited bays jingling up the street at the pace they took when their owner was in a hurry. An awful certainty possessed him that the occupant of the White Room—the resplendent young Rajah who looked handsome when he swore—had something to do with their celerity.