"But aren't you afraid—when he comes?" she asked.
"I don't know," said Peter. "Do you think I ought to be?"
"Well, Shad's—he's what they call a Hellion around here."
"What's a—er—Hellion?"
"A—a scrapper."
"Oh, a fighting man?"
"Yes."
Peter sat down at the piano and struck loudly some strident discords in the bass. "Like this!" he laughed. "Isn't it ugly, Beth—that's what fighting is—I had it day and night for years. If Shad had been in the war he wouldn't ever want to fight again."
"Were you in the war?" asked Beth in amazement.
"Of course. Where would I have been?" And before she could reply he had swept into the rumbling bass of the "Revolutionary Étude." She sank into a chair and sat silent, listening, at first watching the door, and then as the soul of the artist within her awoke she forgot everything but the music.