IV
ADELE HEARS THE WORDS OF A SONG
THERE was just enough of chilly winter left to make the springtime fascinating and a wood fire still acceptable in the cozy library where Doctor Wise and his younger friend Paul Warder sat together expecting guests. They occupied bachelor apartments in common. A delicious aroma from wood logs permeated the atmosphere.
There was music also, for the eye as well as the ear. The firelight played in crescendo and diminuendo, with now and again marked rhythm and very peculiar accents. The sound of wheels reverberated clearly in the cool night air and ceased opposite the portal. An expectant waiting, but no response, no frou-frou from silken skirts passing along the hallway as anticipated. Instead, Benson,—Benson the butler, his countenance a foot long.
“Some one, sir!”
“I presume so.”
“Some one, with his—his trunk.”
“His trunk!” The Doctor lowered the bridge of his nose, and peered at Benson over his eye-glasses.
“Yes, sir! a big one.”
“What’s that for? What will he do with it? What will we do with it?”
“Show him up, Benson,” said Paul, promptly; “trunk and all.”