He dressed himself mechanically and went down stairs. A letter was on the hall rack which had been sent by a messenger. He broke the seal with nervous haste. It was from Bivens asking him to call his office telephone at eleven o'clock.
He tore the note into tiny pieces, stepped into the parlour and threw them into the grate. He stood for a moment gazing into the glowing coals in brooding anger. Slowly he became conscious of music. Some one was playing an old-fashioned Southern melody, and the tenderest voice accompanied the piano. He walked to the door of the music-room.
It was Harriet.
As he listened, the frown died from his face and the anger melted out from his heart. The music ceased. Harriet looked up with a start.
"Oh, Jim, I didn't know you were there!"
"It was beautiful, little pal."
"Yes, I knew you'd like that piece. I heard you humming it one day. That's why I got it."
"What a sweet voice you have, child, so clear, so deep and rich and full of feeling. I didn't know you could sing."
"I didn't either until I tried."
"You must study music," he said, with enthusiasm.