Dulcie was the first to reappear and descend the stairs of the north wing—a willowy white shape in the early dusk, slim as a young spirit in the lamplit silence.
Nobody else had come down; a maid was turning up a lamp here and there; the plebeian family cat came out of the shadows from somewhere and made advances as though divining that this quiet stranger was a friend to cats.
So Dulcie stooped to pet her, then wandered on through the place and finally into the music room, where she seated herself at the piano and touched the keys softly in the semi-dusk.
Among the songs—words and music—which her mother had left in manuscript, was one which she had learned recently,—“Blue Eyes”—and she played the 316 air now, seated there all alone in the subdued lamp light.
Presently people began to appear from above—Mrs. Barres, who motioned her not to rise, and who seated herself near, watching the girl’s slender fingers moving on the keys; then Lee, who came and stood beside her, followed in a few moments by Thessalie and the two younger men.
“What is that lovely little air you are playing?” inquired Mrs. Barres.
“It is called ‘Blue Eyes,’” said Dulcie, absently.
“I have never before heard it.”
The girl looked up: