He hesitated, turned irresolutely, and remounted the stairs. To a maid passing he said:
"Is Mrs. Clydesdale lunching at home?"
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Clydesdale is not well, sir."
"Has she gone to her room?"
"Yes, sir."
"Please go to her and say that I am sorry and—and inquire if there is anything I can do."
The maid departed and the master of the house wandered into the music-room—perhaps because Elena's tall, gilded harp was there—the only thing in the place that ever reminded him of her, or held for him anything of her personality.
"In the rose dusk of the drawn curtains, he stood beside it"