“It is going rather far to call that young person her protégé,” said the secretary stiffly.
Adèle shrugged her shoulders. “Personally I think it is a mild name for him.”
“She will give him the employment he seeks, doubtless, when he is about again,” remarked Leonard.
“Unless she just passes over half her kingdom to him,” said Adèle. “You have been seeing him. Is he really such a beauty as he seemed that first day?”
“Remarkable,” answered the secretary dryly, “with a flaming red beard and mustache.”
“Horrors!” ejaculated Adèle. Then: “Poor thing, I suppose he couldn’t be shaved.”
The secretary pushed his chair back from the table. “Only a most common person could have demanded the music you played for him.”
Adèle grimaced. “Go on. I know what you want to say—And only the commonest sort of person could have played it. Go on. Have courage, the courage of your convictions.”
“I think Miss Frink will be the best person to comment on your actions, in this as in all other matters while you are a guest in her house.”
The two exchanged a dueling glance. Again Adèle experienced that fear of her antagonist which she sometimes experienced. She didn’t dare to allow him to dislike her.
“Oh, what’s the use, Leonard,” she said with a sudden change of tone and manner, and she held out her hand.
He drew back. “Persons shake hands when they are about to fight,” he said. “I hope there is nothing of that sort in the air.”
Adèle dropped her hand. “I should hope not,” she returned, trying to hold him with her soft brown glance; but he was impervious and left the room.
Miss Frink, armed with her box, went to the White Room and knocked on the door. As the nurse opened it, her grave little mouth was smiling.
“We’ve nearly cured Mr. Stanwood while you have been gone,” she said cheerfully. “I’ve heard that music was being used a good deal now to heal the sick; and here we have an example.”
Hugh was smiling, too, above his blanket wrappings. “Some pianist you have here,” he said.
“Oh, did you like that?” asked Miss Frink. “Mrs. Lumbard played, then.”
“By George, it was all I could do to stay in the chair,” said Hugh.
“Well, now I’m glad to hear that,” said Miss Frink. “Music is one thing we can give you. I’m glad you’re in a good mood, too, for I’m just a little bit more ashamed than I ever thought I should be again.” She dropped her box on a chair, and, advancing, held out the letter. “From Mr. Ogden,” she continued, “and I don’t know how old it is, and I’m real sorry I’m too old to blush.” She noted that the invalid’s hands were enveloped in the blanket. “Would you like me to read it to you?”