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Page 64

"How--about what time?"

"In the afternoon would be pleasant, I think. And then Jimmy can
listen. He loves music."

McLean, having found his fur-lined coat, got into it as slowly as
possible. Then he missed a glove, and it must be searched for in
all the dark corners of the salon until found in his pocket. Even
then he hesitated, lingered, loath to break up this little world
of two.

"You play wonderfully," he said.

"So do you."

"If only something comes of it! It's curious, isn't it, when you
think of it? You and I meeting here in the center of Europe and
both of us working our heads off for something that may never pan
out."

There was something reminiscent about that to Harmony. It was not
until after young McLean had gone that she recalled. It was
almost word for word what Peter had said to her in the
coffee-house the night they met. She thought it very curious, the
coincidence, and pondered it, being ignorant of the fact that it
is always a matter for wonder when the man meets the woman, no
matter where. Nothing is less curious, more inevitable, more
amazing. "You and I," forsooth, said Peter!

"You and I," cried young McLean!

CHAPTER XVI

Quite suddenly Peter's house, built on the sand, collapsed. The
shock came on Christmas-Day, after young McLean, now frankly
infatuated, had been driven home by Peter.

Peter did it after his own fashion. Harmony, with unflagging
enthusiasm, was looking tired. Suggestions to this effect rolled
off McLean's back like rain off a roof. Finally Peter gathered up
the fur-lined coat, the velours hat, gloves, and stick, and
placed them on the piano in front of the younger man.

"I'm sorry you must go," said Peter calmly, "but, as you say,
Miss Wells is tired and there is supper to be eaten. Don't let me
hurry you."

The Portier was at the door as McLean, laughing and protesting,
went out. He brought a cablegram for Anna. Peter took it to her
door and waited uneasily while she read it.

It was an urgent summons home; the old father was very low. He
was calling for her, and a few days or week' would see the end.
There were things that must be looked after. The need of her was
imperative. With the death the old man's pension would cease and
Anna was the bread-winner.

Anna held the paper out to Peter and sat down. Her nervous
strength seemed to have deserted her. All at once she was a
stricken, elderly woman, with hope wiped out of her face and
something nearer resentment than grief in its place.

"It has come, Peter," she said dully. "I always knew it couldn't
last. They've always hung about my neck, and now--"

"Do you think you must go? Isn't there some way? If things are so
bad you could hardly get there in time, and--you must think of
yourself a little, Anna."

"I am not thinking of anything else. Peter, I'm an uncommonly
selfish woman, but I--"

Quite without warning she burst out crying, unlovely, audible
weeping that shook her narrow shoulders. Harmony heard the sound
and joined them. After a look at Anna she sat down beside her and
put a white arm over her shoulders. She did not try to speak.
Anna's noisy grief subsided as suddenly as it came. She patted
Harmony's hand in mute acknowledgment and dried her eyes.

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Wed 24th Dec 2025, 23:04

The Street of Seven Stars by Mary Roberts Rinehart