He lifted his head a little; the look in his eyes deepened. “I am called--Miss Elizabeth Harris--and her mother--to see,” he said, simply.
The door paused a little and swung back an inch. He might be a great savant... some scholar of parts--an artist. They came for the child--to examine her--to play for her--to talk with her.... Then there was the music-roll. It took the blundering grammar and the music-roll to keep the door open--and then it opened wide and Achilles entered, following the butler’s stateliness up the high, dark hall. Rich hangings were about them, and massive pictures, bronzes and statues, and curious carvings. Inside the house the taste of the mistress had prevailed.
At the door of a great, high-ceiled room the butler paused, holding back the soft drapery with austere hand. “What name--for madame?” he said.
The clear eyes of Achilles met his. “My name is Achilles Alexandrakis,” he said, quietly.
The eyes of the butler fell. He was struggling with this unexpected morsel in the recesses of his being. Plain Mr. Alexander would have had small effect upon him; but Achilles Alexandrakis--! He mounted the long staircase, holding the syllables in his set teeth.
“Alexandrakis?” His mistress turned a little puzzled frown upon him. “What is he like, Conner?”
The man considered a safe moment. “He’s a furriner,” he said, addressing the wall before him with impassive jaw.
A little light crossed her face--not a look of pleasure. “Ask Miss Stone to come to me--at once,” she said.
The man bowed himself out and departed on silken foot.
Miss Stone, gentle and fluttering and fine-grained, appeared a moment later in the doorway.
“He has come,” said the woman, without looking up.
“He--?” Miss Stone’s lifted eyebrows sought to place him--
“Oh--The Greek--!” It was slow and hesitant. It spoke volumes for Miss Stone’s state of mind. Hours of Greek history were in it, and long rows of tombs and temples--the Parthenon of gods and goddesses, with a few outlying scores of heroes and understudies. “The--Greek,” she repeated, softly.
“The Greek,” said the woman, with decision. “He has asked for Betty and for me. I cannot see him, of course.”
“You have the club,” said Miss Stone, in soft assent.