Drawn by the music, he crossed the Rose Garden, and reaching the terrace, paused there; for the long French windows were open, and, from where he stood, he could see Anthea seated at the piano. She was dressed in a white gown of some soft, clinging material, and among the heavy braids of her hair was a single great, red rose. And, as he watched, he thought she had never looked more beautiful than now, with the soft glow of the candles upon her; for her face reflected the tender sadness of the music, it was in the mournful droop of her scarlet lips, and the sombre depths of her eyes. Close beside her sat little Miss Priscilla busy with her needle as usual, but now she paused, and lifting her head in her quick, bird-like way, looked up at Anthea, long, and fixedly.
"Anthea my dear," said she suddenly, "I'm fond of music, and I love to hear you play, as you know,—but I never heard you play quite so—dolefully? dear me, no,—that's not the right word,—nor dismal,—but I mean something between the two."
"I thought you were fond of Grieg, Aunt Priscilla."
"So I am, but then, even in his gayest moments, poor Mr. Grieg was always breaking his heart over something, or other. And— Gracious!—there's Mr. Bellew at the window. Pray come in, Mr. Bellew, and tell us how you liked Peterday, and the muffins?"
"Thank you!" said Bellew, stepping in through the long French window, "but I should like to hear Miss Anthea play again, first, if she will?"
But Anthea, who had already risen from the piano, shook her head:
"I only play when I feel like it,—to please myself,—and Aunt Priscilla," said she, crossing to the broad, low window-seat, and leaning out into the fragrant night.
"Why then," said Bellew, sinking into the easy-chair that Miss Priscilla indicated with a little stab of her needle, "why then the muffins were delicious, Aunt Priscilla, and Peterday was just exactly what a one-legged mariner ought to be."
"And the shrimps, Mr. Bellew?" enquired Miss Priscilla, busy at her sewing again.
"Out-shrimped all other shrimps so ever!" he answered, glancing to where Anthea sat with her chin propped in her hand, gazing up at the waning moon, seemingly quite oblivious of him.