Astonishment of the liveliest kind was on Nan’s face as she saw, flying from the mysterious cabin, the figure of a mediæval princess. Was she dreaming? Was the music a spell? Then her countenance partially cleared as she saw who it was. “Jacqueline Corner!” she cried. “What under the canopy of heaven are you up to now?”
“Oh, Nan, Nan,” cried Jack excitedly, “come in, do come in and see this darling place. You’ll just love it.” So Nan, perfectly unconscious of entering bachelor’s quarters, followed her sister to where the artist, whose sense of humor was ever present, still played the violin, waiting to see how the situation would develop.
“Mr. Wells,” said Jack in her best manner, “let me present you to my sister, Miss Nancy Corner.”
The young man tucked the violin under his arm and came forward. “Welcome to Place o’ Pines,” he said.
Even as Nan backed out the door her thoughts flew to her old haunt. How strange that the name she thought her own original invention should be used away up here in Maine. “Oh, but,” she said as she hesitated upon the sill, “we mustn’t, you know. I—oh, Jack—do get your things and come. Mother doesn’t know where you are.”
“Oh, Nan, please just stay and see the studio,” begged Jack.
“Any one may visit a studio, I think,” said the young man, his eyes on Nan’s flushed face and troubled eyes.
“Oh, Nan,” Jack went on, “Mr. Wells has been so lovely. I went out to find Happy—I didn’t, by the way—and I got turned around so I was coming in this direction instead of going toward camp. I saw an Indian.”
“So did I,” Nan interrupted.
“And did he tell you about me?”