"It will be a sad day for you, papa, when his memoirs appear," put in Théo, who was smoking a pipe and walking up and down the room just because he was much too happy to sit still. "You have yet to see the real Victor Joyselle, Brigit. This polite being is the one we keep for company."
Brigit laughed. "Is it true?" she asked the violinist.
"Yes," he returned unexpectedly, "you see now the happy Joyselle; the Joyselle père de famille, domestic; the artist Joyselle, alas! is an irritable, nervous, unpleasant person, who forgets to eat, and then abuses his wife for giving him no dinner; an absent-minded idiot who leaves his own old coat at the club and goes off wrapped in the Marquis of St. Ive's sables; a swearing, smoking, wild-headed person, who adores, nevertheless, his little Théo, and that little Théo's beautiful fiancée."
At the end of this long speech his face, which had in the middle of it been sombre with a sense of his own iniquity, suddenly cleared, until a radiant smile transfigured it.
"My little brother adores you, M. Joyselle," said Brigit suddenly; "he will be so pleased. He calls your hair a halo!"
"A sad sinner's halo, then. The beautiful saints have others. And your little brother, what is his name? And how old is he?"
"Tommy is his name, and he is twelve. He is music-mad, and such a dear! Isn't he, Théo?"
Brigit had never been so happy. It was all like a dream, these warm-hearted, simple-minded people, the father and mother so ready to love her for the son's sake, the mental atmosphere so different from that to which she was accustomed. She felt younger and, somehow, better than ever before. And Théo would be very helpful to Tommy, and Tommy's joy, in hearing Joyselle play, something very beautiful. She had sent a wire to her mother the night before at the station, but her mother would not answer it, and there were at least several hours between her and the moment when she must leave Golden Square. The very name was beautiful!
It was raining hard, and the blurred windows seemed a kind of magic barrier between her and the tiresome old world outside.
Then there came a ring at the door, and a moment later Toinon, the red-elbowed maid-of-all-work, appeared, very much alarmed, carrying a card, which she gave to Brigit.