"And the most powerful of all the arts that arouse the emotions. Hang it! when I hear a great singer, a great violinist, half the time I find an invisible hand clutching me by the throat ... Patty, honestly now, didn't you write that letter?"
"Yes," looking him courageously in the eyes. "And I hope you were not laughing when you said all those kind things about it."
"Laughing? No," gravely, "I was not laughing. Play something lively; Chaminade; I am blue to-night."
So Patty played the light, enchanting sketches. In the midst of one of them she stopped suddenly.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I thought I heard the boat's whistle. Listen. Yes, there it is. It must be a telegram. They never come up to the head of the lake at night for anything less. There goes John with a lantern."
"Never mind the telegram," he said; "play."
A quarter of an hour later John and Kate came in.
"A telegram for you, Dick," John announced, sending the yellow envelope skimming through the air.
Warrington caught it deftly. He balanced it in his hand speculatively.