He was in nowise deluded by all this. He knew that she was angry, and she could tell that he knew it by his anxious sidelong glances.
V
“See here, old girl!” he said, as they drew near the house. “Suppose we stay out for dinner? Eh?”
“I’d rather go home, thank you, Frank.”
He sighed.
“Well,” he said, “we’ve got to go some time, of course; but it’s—Madeline!” There was a note in his voice that she had never heard before—an almost panic-stricken appeal. “Madeline!” he repeated. “I hate the thought of going back. She—I can’t realize it. She seemed such a child to me—such a—” He turned away his head. “Only hope the boy’ll turn out well,” he added gruffly.
They walked on in silence. When at last he spoke again, it was in his usual vague, good-humored way. He had recovered himself; yet Mrs. Holland was not glad. There was a strange little ache of regret in her heart, as if she had missed[Pg 415] some irrecoverable opportunity. She wanted to speak, but the moment had passed. He did not need comfort from her now, that was evident.
Hilda opened the door for them, and her face was not pleasant.
“There’s a young lady here, ma’am,” she said, “playin’ the pianner.”
That hardly needed saying, for all the house seemed filled with it—with the austere beauty of a Bach fugue, played with a noble and honest simplicity. It was music like a benediction upon a home. The hall was dim, but through the window on the landing came the glow of sunset. A pool of light lay upon the wine-red carpet; and that glow and color, and the music, were strangely and gravely exalting. The old house had found a voice for its loss—not sorrowful, not weary, but proclaiming a strong, sure hope.