“You love your violin, Major,” Roderick at last managed to articulate.
“Yes,” came the low-spoken fervent reply, “every crease, crevice and string of the dear old Cremona that was given me more than half a century ago.”
“I wish,” said Grant, “that I could express my appreciation of the wonderful entertainment you have given us tonight.”
“You are very complimentary,” replied the Major, bestirring himself. He rose, laid the violin on the table, and brightened up the fire with additional fuel.
“But I’m afraid we must be going,” added Grant. “It is getting late.”
“Well, I have a message for you young gentlemen,” said the Major. “You are invited to attend one of the most distinguished soirees ever given in the Platte River Valley. Mr. and Mrs. Shields mentioned this today, and made me the special messenger to extend the invitation to you both.”
“Splendid,” exclaimed Grant. “When does this come off?”
“Two weeks from this evening,” replied the Major. “And we will have a comparative newcomer to the valley to grace the occasion. She has been here through the late fall and winter, but has been too busy nursing her sick and bereaved old father to go out into society.”
“General Holden’s daughter?” queried Grant.
“The same. And Gail Holden is certainly a most beautiful young lady. Have you seen her, Mr. War-field?”