From the doorway William
watched her flying fingers with fond pride, and it was very reluctantly
that he acceded to Pete's request to go down-stairs for a moment to
settle a vexed question concerning the table decorations.
Billy, left alone, still played, but with a difference. The tripping
notes slowed into a weird melody that rose and fell and lost itself in
the exquisite harmony that had been born of the crashing chords. Billy
was improvising now, and into her music had crept something of her
old-time longing when she had come to that house a lonely, orphan girl,
in search of a home. On and on she played; then with a discordant
note, she suddenly rose from the piano. She was thinking of Kate, and
wondering if, had Kate not "managed" the little room would still be
home.
So swiftly did Billy cross to the door that the man on the stairs
outside had not time to get quite out of sight. Billy did not see his
face, however; she saw only a pair of gray-trousered legs disappearing
around the curve of the landing above. She thought nothing of it until
later when dinner was announced, and Cyril came down-stairs; then
she saw that he, and he only, that afternoon wore trousers of that
particular shade of gray.
The dinner was a great success. Even the chocolate fudge in the little
cut glass bonbon dishes was perfect; and it was a question whether Pete
or Dong Ling tried the harder to please.
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