But to-day the mood for music was upon this strange man, and he nodded to Laura and went to the piano. Mrs. Jones-Dexter, who had lingered, forgot her original objection to music with her tea, and sat listening with tears streaming down her face, a face lined by her seventy years of hard battling with everything and everybody in her world; which came to mean, after all, but one thing: perpetual strife with herself.
Gradually the tea room filled. Those who came did not go away, and more and more kept coming, and still Herr Lieder played, forgetful of time, place, human beings, everything but his music. It seemed to Happie that he had not played before, when they had thought he played perfectly, as he played this day. Laura was entirely useless; the music made her hopeless as an assistant, and Happie and Gretta were at their wits' ends. There was an hour lacking to the time when Margery was due, the room was crowded, and they were hardly better fitted than Laura to look after their guests, with Herr Lieder playing as Orpheus must have played to call back the soul of Eurydice.
Happie looked about her wildly, and there in the doorway stood the tall young man, the hero of her adventure in Mr. Felton's office the day before.
He bowed and smiled as they recognized each other, looking much less surprised than she as he made his way forward and said: "Very glad to see you again. You seem to be an all around genius. Are you one of the six maidens of the card in the window?"
"Yes, I am the second of the six, I suppose," said Happie. "I hope you are well?"
The young man laughed. Plainly she had not meant to say that, and was quite demoralized by her responsibilities.
"Perfectly well, thank you, Miss Happie Scollard," he said, and Happy was too confused to wonder at his knowledge of her name. "You have marvelous music for your tea room."
"It doesn't belong to it," said Happie. "That is a mysterious German gentleman who comes here a great deal and has played for us once before. I never heard such playing. But I don't know what to do. Nobody goes, Laura—my sister—is delirious from it, and can't help us, and people keep on coming——" Happie broke off with a gesture that came near ignoring the little tray with its burden of teacups which she held.
The tall young man took it from her. "Allow me," he said as coolly as if they had been at a party and he was offering to bring her cream. "Now if you will tell me where you want these I will get them there. And you may as well let me help you. I am sure I can serve tea quite as well as you girls do. I have often served harder things than tea—tennis balls, for instance."
His brown eyes laughed into Happie's lighter brown ones so merrily and with such friendly confidence that she would accept his offer, that she yielded up her tray involuntarily with but a feeble protest.