- r - I-'- ,, ;, .. : 
 
 
 Clara Louise
 
 340D
 
 THE CALL
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 A Novel 
 
 by 
 Clara Louise Burnham 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY CLARA LOUISE BVRNHAM 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
 
 Contents 
 
 I. A NOVEMBER NIGHT I 
 
 II. SEVERED COMPANIONSHIP .... 25 
 
 III. MRS. FABIAN'S VISIT 41 
 
 IV. PHILIP SIDNEY 55 
 
 V. ELIZA'S INVITATION 79 
 
 VI. BROTHER AND SISTER .... 95 
 
 VII. THE FLITTING 114 
 
 VIII. AN INTERRUPTED TEA . . . -131 
 
 IX. HEIRLOOMS 157 
 
 X. THE ARRIVAL 176 
 
 XL MRS. FABIAN'S GIFTS .... 194 
 
 XII. MRS. FABIAN'S DINNER LIST . . 209 
 
 XIII. CHRISTMAS 222 
 
 XIV. SPRING 242 
 
 XV. JUNE 258 
 
 XVI. THE PEACEMAKER 276 
 
 2228435
 
 Contents 
 
 XVII. MRS. FABIAN'S SCHEME .... 296 
 
 XVIII. CASCO BAY 312 
 
 XIX. FLASHES OF BLUE 328 
 
 XX. ELIZA SURRENDERS 347 
 
 XXI. THE SINGER 366 
 
 XXII. THE NEW STUDIO . . . " . .383 
 
 XXIII. PHILIP'S LETTER 400 
 
 XXIV. PHILIP ENTERTAINS 405 
 
 XXV. BY MOONLIGHT 429 
 
 XXVI. TIDES 450 
 
 XXVII. THE SON 466 
 
 XXVIII. A TIDAL WAVE 480
 
 The Inner Flame
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A NOVEMBER NIGHT 
 
 SOFT snowflakes whirled around the lonely 
 mountain cabin under a November sky. The 
 wind that had rushed up the valley sighing and 
 groaning between the wooded walls, now 
 roared its wild delight in the freedom of the 
 heights. The twilight was deepening fast. Two 
 women were alone in the cabin. The one who 
 was at home stooped and put another log on the 
 blazing fire. The other could not have stooped, 
 no matter how willing her spirit, so straitly and 
 fashionably was her ample figure bound by art- 
 ful bone and steel. - 
 
 "Mercy, Mary!" she ejaculated, standing 
 stock still in the middle of the room, fixed there 
 by a triumphant shriek of the rioting wind. "I 
 never had the least desire to go up in an aero- 
 plane. Are you well anchored here?" 
 
 "Like a lichen on a rock," returned Mary 
 I
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Sidney, smiling. " Take off your hat, Isabel, 
 and be comfy." 
 
 "Do you think we must stay all night?" de- 
 murred the visitor. "You know I love you, 
 Mary, and if that wind would just let us hear 
 ourselves think, I would n't ask anything bet- 
 ter than an evening's chat with you alone." 
 
 "You would n't as it is," returned Mrs. Sid- 
 ney soothingly, approaching her cousin and 
 unpinning the veil which Mrs. Fabian had not 
 raised. The visitor clung to her wraps with the 
 feeling that an entire readiness to flee back to 
 the haunts of men would aid her to depart. 
 Mary Sidney's calm amused smile carried some 
 reassurance. It flickered across her face as the 
 firelight flickered across the dark rafters above. 
 
 "I told Henry I thought the sky looked 
 threatening before we left town," declared the 
 guest while she submitted to the gentle touch, 
 " but nothing would do but that he should visit 
 the mine this very afternoon. Is n't this fear- 
 ful, Mary?" as a renewed gust shook the firelit 
 rafters until they creaked heavily. 
 
 "Oh, no, this sounds a great deal worse than 
 it is," was the response. 
 
 "You 're comforting me, I know you are"; 
 and Mrs. Fabian, denuded of her correct hat, 
 
 2
 
 
 A November Night 
 
 permitted herself to take the offered chair by 
 the fire. " I hope, though, that you have a kennel 
 of St. Bernard dogs in the back yard. I should 
 like to see Henry again> bad as he is !" 
 
 Mrs. Sidney took the other chair and rolled 
 a blazing log to a better position. 
 
 "You'll see the men coming along in a little 
 while when they grow hungry," she returned 
 placidly. 
 
 "And how in the world do you get servants 
 up here?" demanded the other. 
 
 "We don't. We could get a Chinaman, but if 
 we had him we'd have to amuse him, there's no 
 one else for him to talk to, so we go without." 
 
 "Horrors! " ejaculated Mrs. Fabian with sol- 
 emn repugnance. "And you live here alone!" 
 
 The hostess laughed at her tone. "Not 
 enough of the year to dislike it. One learns a lot 
 of things in these hills bidding farewell to 
 time, for instance. You see a man with a gun 
 tramping through the valley and you rush to 
 the door, and cry out, 'Hey, there, you with 
 the gun, what day is this?' and the man 
 turns and shouts back, 'You can't prove it by 
 me!"' 
 
 Mrs. Sidney laughed again and her cousin 
 shuddered.
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Thank God for civilization!" ejaculated 
 the latter devoutly; then, as the window-glass 
 sucked in and out with a cracking sound, "Give 
 me my hat, Mary," she said, sitting up. "If 
 we're going down the mountain-side, let's go 
 decently and in order." 
 
 "For shame, you Maine woman!" was the 
 laughing rejoinder. "Your sea-captains would 
 call this 'a breeze o' wind!' That's all. That's 
 another thing one becomes acquainted with up 
 here : the wind. I did n't know anything about it 
 when I came. You should be here some nights 
 if you call this a storm ! I used to set my dish- 
 pans out at the door; but when a few had 
 whirled down the mountain-side into the val- 
 ley, I learned caution. One can't go around the 
 corner here and buy a dish-pan." 
 
 "Mary," Mrs. Fabian eyed her with be- 
 wildered admiration, "you 're wonderful! You 
 did n't used to be wonderful," she added in an 
 argumentative tone. "Once you'd have made 
 just as much fuss about this as I would. You 
 remember if you try, you '11 remember per- 
 fectlythat I warned you, more than twenty- 
 five years ago, not to marry a mining engineer. 
 I told you then it was just as bad as marrying 
 an army officer. There would be no repose about 
 
 4
 
 A November Night 
 
 it, and no comfort. You see I was right. Here 
 we are, to all intents and purposes, in a shrieking 
 balloon, and you call it home!" The speaker 
 kept a watchful eye on the rattling casement 
 and drew herself up with renewed tension at 
 each wind blast, but nevertheless she talked 
 on. 
 
 "With it all you have n't as many lines in 
 your face as I have, and your hair is as brown as 
 ever. Mine would be white if I lived here in- 
 stead of in New York. And the calmness of 
 your eyes, and your smile ! Tell me, Mary, tell 
 me now honestly, I shall sympathize with you, 
 
 is it the calmness of despair?" 
 
 Mary Sidney did not smile. She looked into 
 the depths of the fire and her guest wondered 
 what memories were unfolding themselves to 
 her rapt vision. 
 
 "No," she answered simply at last, "such 
 calmness as I possess is not of despair, but of 
 
 faith." The speaker paused before the utter- 
 ance of the last word as if hesitating for the one 
 which should best express her meaning. 
 
 "Do you mean something religious?" asked 
 Mrs. Fabian stiffly. 
 
 The stiffness was not disapproval. It was 
 owing to the divided attention she was bestow- 
 
 5
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 ing upon the storm, lest if she took her mind off 
 the wind it might seize the advantage and hurl 
 the cabin from its moorings. 
 
 "I should think a person would have to be 
 religious here," she went on. "You must be 
 reduced simply reduced to trusting in Pro- 
 vidence!" 
 
 Mary Sidney smiled at the fire. " I did n't 
 have a trusting disposition. I did n't have everr 
 a happy disposition, as you evidently remem- 
 ber." 
 
 "Well," returned Isabel, "it wasn't a bad 
 one: I did n't imply anything like that; but you 
 were one of the spoiled-beauty sort of girls, not 
 a bit cut out for hardship," the speaker looked 
 judicially at the once familiar face, softened 
 from its old brilliancy. "What an advantage it 
 is to have beautiful eyes ! " she added bluntly. 
 "They don't desert you when other things go; 
 not that it matters a bit what sort of eyes a 
 woman has, living the life you have." 
 
 "Oh, Allan thinks it does," returned Mary in 
 her restful manner. 
 
 "Does he appreciate you ?" Mrs. Fabian 
 asked the question almost angrily. 
 
 Mrs. Sidney smiled. "We don't talk much 
 about that, but we 're better companions, hap- 
 
 6
 
 A November Night 
 
 pier, dearer, than we were twenty-five years 
 ago." 
 
 Her cousin gazed curiously. "Then it did 
 turn out all right. You Ve written so little 
 to your friends. How could your relatives tell ? " 
 
 "You see, now, why," returned the other. 
 " There 's not much letter-material here, and 
 even when we 're living in town, all our friends 
 and our pursuits are so foreign to the people at 
 home. Little by little one gets out of the way of 
 writing." 
 
 "Don't you ever long for Fifth Avenue?" 
 asked Mrs. Fabian suddenly, her cousin's exile 
 impressing her more and more as utter for- 
 lornity. 
 
 "Oh, no, not for many years." 
 
 "You never could have kept your figure there 
 as you have here," admitted the other in a spirit 
 of justice. "I must say that," and the speaker 
 composed her own rigid armor into a less un- 
 comfortable position. 
 
 "Do your own housework, Isabel," advised 
 the hostess with a smile. 
 
 "Heavens! it is too late to talk to me about 
 that. I 've enough to do without housework, I 
 should hope. You Ve no idea how much worse 
 things have grown in twenty-five years, Mary. 
 
 7
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 A woman has so much on her mind now that 
 nothing but regular massage from the crown 
 of her head to her heels will offset it. The 
 modistes and milliners are in a conspiracy to 
 change styles so often that it takes active 
 thought to keep abreast of them. Then you no 
 sooner settle down really to learn Bridge, for 
 instance, and feel that you can hold your own, 
 than everybody begins playing Auction! And 
 to know what people are talking about at lunch- 
 eons you must see plays, and skim through 
 books, reading at least enough so you can 
 express an opinion; not that anybody listens. 
 They all talk at once, their one and only object 
 seems to be to get their own ideas out of their 
 systems. I was glad to send Kathleen off to 
 school. It does seem as if the girls had to go 
 to college to escape as great a rush as we grown- 
 ups live in. Then when they come back, having 
 had another environment for four years, they 
 adjust themselves to their own homes with such 
 a sense of superiority that it makes you tired; 
 that's what it does, Mary, tired. I've had a 
 taste of it this summer. Kathleen has another 
 year to go, but already she is perfectly changed. 
 She cares no more for my advice, I assure you, 
 than if I had just come down from Mars and 
 
 8
 
 A November Night 
 
 had no judgment as to the things of this world. 
 She 's well-bred, of course, I hope no daughter 
 of mine could be less than well-bred, but when 
 I give her directions, or try to guide her in any 
 way, there 's a twinkle in her eye that I resent, 
 Mary, I resent it distinctly. So there you are!" 
 Mrs. Fabian gestured with a perfectly kept 
 hand whereon a blazing gem flashed in the fire- 
 light. "There we a re between Scylla andCharyb- 
 dis. We either have to send our girls to college 
 and let the little upstarts think they 've out- 
 grown us, or else have them rushed to death at 
 home, keep them up on tonics, and let them 
 sleep till noon!" 
 
 With this dismal peroration Mrs. Fabian sat 
 ^s far back in her chair as disciplined adipose 
 would permit, and shuddered again at the wind. 
 
 " Is a son an easier proposition then, in that 
 madding crowd of yours?" 
 
 "A boy does seem to have his life more 
 plainly mapped out than a girl. Edgar is in his 
 father's office." The speaker sighed uncon- 
 sciously. "What is your boy like, Mary?" 
 
 Mrs. Sidney kept silence for a thoughtful 
 moment before answering. 
 
 "He is like Pegasus harnessed to a coal- 
 wagon," she said at last slowly. 
 
 9
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "How very extraordinary. What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 Instead of replying, Mrs. Sidney went to a 
 table in the far corner of the cabin and brought 
 therefrom a portfolio which she opened on the 
 chair beside her guest. 
 
 A mass of sketches was disclosed, charcoal, 
 water-color, oil. Mrs. Sidney lifted one, and 
 held it before the other's eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian raised her lorgnette. 
 
 "Why, it's you, Mary; and it's capital!" 
 she ejaculated. 
 
 Another and another sheet was offered for her 
 inspection. 
 
 "Why, they're all of you. The artist must be 
 in love with you." 
 
 Mary Sidney gave her a slight smile. " I hope 
 so, a little, but it was Hobson's choice when it 
 came to models. Phil seldom could get any one 
 beside me. Here 's one of his father. He had to 
 do it slyly behind a newspaper, for Allan is 
 rather impatient of Phil's tendency." 
 
 "So that is what your boy is at! It's real 
 talent, isn't it?" 
 
 ''Yes, it is," returned the mother with quiet 
 conviction. 
 
 "And where is he studying?" 
 10
 
 A November Night 
 
 "He has never studied anything but mining 
 engineering. He is working with his father 
 here." 
 
 The unconscious sadness of the speaker's tone 
 impressed her listener. 
 
 "He does landscapes, too," went on the mo- 
 ther, lifting one after another of the sketches 
 of mountain, valley, and streamlet, " a little of 
 everything, you see." Mrs. Sidney regarded the 
 work wistfully. 
 
 "Why, they're lovely," declared Mrs. Fa- 
 bian. "Why don't you pin them up on the 
 walls?" 
 
 "Because it rather annoys Phil's father, to 
 see them, and it only tantalizes the boy." 
 
 " So Mr. Sidney is n't willing he should 
 study?" 
 
 " I don't think he would thwart us if he saw 
 any hope in it, but one can't enter on the life 
 of an art-student without any capital. Allan 
 knows there is a living for Phil in the work of 
 a mining engineer, so he has discouraged the 
 boy's talent." 
 
 "It is a great responsibility to thwart a 
 child's bent," declared Mrs. Fabian impress- 
 ively. 
 
 " I have always felt so. I used to be very rest- 
 II
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 less and anxious about it. My husband seemed 
 to feel that because Phil was a strapping boy, a 
 natural athlete, that painting was a womanish 
 profession for him. He had the ability to help 
 him into mining engineering lines, and he al- 
 ways pooh-poohed the idea of Phil's attempting 
 to be an artist." Mrs. Sidney gave a little 
 shrug. "We did n't have the money anyway, so 
 Allan naturally has had his way." 
 
 "One can't blame him," returned Mrs. 
 Fabian, who had relaxed as the wind ceased to 
 shake the cabin. "Painting is even more pre- 
 carious than acting; yet what a talent the boy 
 has!" 
 
 She held before her a bold sketch in charcoal 
 of the mountain-side in the winter few in 
 strokes, but striking in its breadth and power. 
 
 "He has had an offer from a newspaper in 
 Denver to take the position of cartoonist. His 
 ability for caricature is good. See these of 
 Allan." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian laughed as she examined the 
 small sheets. " I have n't seen your husband for 
 ten years, Mary, but these recall his clean-cut 
 face better than a photograph would, I believe. 
 Phil rather gets back at his father in these, 
 does n't he?" 
 
 12
 
 A November Night 
 
 "Oh, Allan laughed at them too. He's se- 
 cretly proud of Phil's cleverness, even while he 
 discourages it. He tells him it is all right for an 
 accomplishment, but a forlorn hope for a 
 living." 
 
 "And right he is," responded Mrs. Fabian, 
 laying down the sketches. "Look at Aunt 
 Mary's experience. There she has lived alone 
 all these years and given her life to the attempt 
 to make a name in the artistic world. I go 
 sometimes to see her, of course, for there she is 
 right in town, but her pictures " Mrs. Fabian 
 lifted her eyes to the rafters "they're 
 daubs!" 
 
 "I know," returned Mary Sidney, looking 
 back into the fire. " She sent me one on my last 
 birthday. She never forgets her name-child." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian laughed. "I fancy you wished 
 she would, for that time." 
 
 "No," returned the hostess, slowly, "I think 
 Aunt Mary sees more than she has the tech- 
 nique to express. She gets an effect." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian raised her eyebrows. " She cer- 
 tainly does. She makes me want to run a mile." 
 
 "The gift led to our having a little corre- 
 spondence. I sent her a couple of Phil's sketches 
 and she was delighted with them," 
 
 13
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "She might well be," was the answer. There 
 was a brief silence, then the visitor continued: 
 "So Phil is something of a bone of contention 
 between you and his father?" 
 
 "It is our only difference. Yet it can scarcely 
 even be called that, because it is a fact that we 
 have n't the money to give him the start he 
 should have." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian looked at her cousin curiously. 
 
 " So this new calmness of yours this re- 
 pose. It is resignation, at least, if not despair." 
 
 Mary Sidney smiled at the fire. "No," she 
 returned, "I told you. It is faith." 
 
 "Religion?" 
 
 "Yes, religion. Not the sort of ideas we were 
 brought up in, Isabel. Something quite differ- 
 ent." 
 
 "What is it, then? Where did you find it? ?r 
 
 "It found me." 
 
 "How mysterious! Is that wind coming up 
 again, Mary?" 
 
 "How it blew that night!" said Mary Sidney 
 thoughtfully, still looking into the fire. " It was 
 just before Thanksgiving, I remember, five 
 years ago. Allan and I had come up to the mine, 
 Phil had gone back to college, and one night a 
 belated traveller, overtaken by the storm which 
 
 14
 
 A November Night 
 
 came up as suddenly as this, stopped at the door 
 and asked if he could stay all night with us. He 
 was one of these vital men, full of energy, who 
 seem to exhale good cheer. Allan thoroughly 
 enjoyed a talk with him that evening, and when 
 we went to bed I remember his sighing and re- 
 marking that a man must be either a fool or a 
 philosopher who could keep such an optimistic 
 outlook on life as this Mr. Tremaine. I re- 
 turned that perhaps our guest had struck a 
 gold-mine here in the mountains, and I remem- 
 ber how Allan grumbled ' Either that, or the 
 pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.' 
 
 "Allan came in here once, where we had left 
 the guest to sleep on the couch, to see if he 
 wanted anything; and he found him reading in 
 front of the embers. When he came back he 
 remarked : 'That fellow has a smile that does n't 
 usually last beyond the tenth year.' The next 
 morning dawned bright and our guest was in 
 haste to depart. He tried in the nicest way to 
 pay us for taking in a stranger, and we quite 
 honestly told him that if any money were to 
 pass it should go from us to him for cheering our 
 exile. He took from his pocket a small black 
 book and held it out to me. 'Then,' he said, 
 'may I leave with you a little book which has 
 
 15
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 broken up the clouds of life for me, and let the 
 light stream through? You have time up here 
 to read, and to think?' He made the addi- 
 tion with that smile which had roused Allan's 
 curiosity, shook hands with us both, thanked 
 us again, mounted his horse and rode away. We 
 never saw him afterward. I often wish I knew 
 where he was, that I might thank him." 
 1 "What was the book?" asked Mrs. Fabian, 
 impressed by the fervor of the other's tone. 
 
 "A a commentary on the Bible. A new 
 Jight on the meaning of the Bible." 
 
 "How queer! I'm sure I thought our family 
 knew as much about the Bible as the average of 
 decent people." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian's tone was slightly resentful. 
 
 "We did," returned Mary Sidney. 
 
 "So that's what you meant a few minutes 
 ago by the calm of faith." 
 
 Mrs. Sidney nodded. "I know now what 
 that sentence means: 'Cast your burden on the 
 Lord.' Phil is the most precious thing on earth 
 to me. The years seem to be slipping by with- 
 out showing us a possible path to what we wish. 
 'Wait patiently on the Lord' does n't mean 
 inaction either. I've learned that. I know 
 that at the right time the right moment 
 
 16
 
 A November Night 
 
 circumstances will arise to show us if Phil 
 is to " 
 
 A sudden blast of wind brought a start and a 
 muffled exclamation from the guest, and at the 
 same instant a stamping sounded outside. The 
 lamp-flames rose wildly, and smoked in the in- 
 stant of opening the door wide enough to admit 
 the lithe form of a man whose shoulders and 
 soft felt hat glistened with snow. He quickly 
 closed the door and stamped again, taking off 
 the hat from his short damp locks and shaking 
 it vigorously. 
 
 "Phil, this is my cousin, Mrs. Fabian," said 
 Mrs. Sidney. "You used to call her Aunt Isabel 
 when you were a little chap and we went to visit 
 her once. Do you remember?" 
 \. "When a cousin is once removed she becomes 
 an aunt," declared Mrs. Fabian, looking the 
 young man over with approval. 
 
 "My hand is too wet to shake," he said, 
 meeting her interested gaze, his own luminous 
 in the firelight. 
 
 " Lucky boy ! You have your mother's eyes ! " 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 "Oh, no," said Mary Sidney; "Phil's are 
 blue." , 
 
 "Dark with terror, then!" exclaimed Mrs. 
 
 if
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Fabian, again anxious. "Isn't the storm 
 frightful?" 
 
 Phil's amused glance sought his mother's. 
 
 "It's sort of spitting outside," he returned, 
 unbuttoning his corduroy coat. 
 
 "You're making fun of a tenderfoot," said 
 Mrs. Fabian, watching his keen face admir- 
 ingly. "Don't pretend. What have you done 
 with my poor innocent husband?" 
 
 "He'll be up here in a few minutes with my 
 poor innocent father who has been showing him 
 why he'll never be a millionaire out of that 
 
 mine." 
 
 " What do I care if he is n't, so long as he 
 is n't lost in this storm!" 
 
 "I came on ahead because the mail had just 
 been brought in." As he spoke, the young man 
 brought a small bunch of letters and papers 
 from an inner pocket. 
 
 "A great excitement, Isabel," said the host- 
 ess. "Only twice a week, you know." 
 
 "There's another letter from the Denver 
 paper," went on Phil, looking at his mother 
 steadily. 
 
 "You'll forgive us if we open everything, 
 won't you, Isabel?" asked Mrs. Sidney. 
 
 "Indeed, yes. Don't mind me." Mrs. Fabian 
 18
 
 A November Night 
 
 returned to her chair by the fire and regarded 
 the pair who seated themselves by the table. 
 
 Phil had slipped off the damp coat, and his 
 arm in its striped linen sleeve was thrown 
 around his mother's shoulders. 
 
 The visitor's eyes filled with something like 
 envy. Kathleen and Edgar were her step- 
 children, the boy had been five years of age 
 when she began to be, to use her own declara- 
 tion, the best stepmother in the world. Edgar 
 would never think of reading his letters with 
 her in this frankly affectionate attitude. Must 
 one live on a mountain-top, she wondered, to 
 win the sort of look she had seen in this son's 
 eyes? 
 
 "I've been showing your Aunt Isabel your 
 sketches, Phil," said Mrs. Sidney, holding open 
 a letter they had just read. "I told her about 
 the Denver paper. This is another offer from 
 them, Isabel, an increased offer." 
 
 "I'm sure that's very flattering," returned 
 Mrs. Fabian. 
 
 Phil did not speak. His straight brows were 
 knit in perplexity, and his lips were set in the 
 look of longing that his mother knew. 
 
 "I don't know this writing from New York," 
 said Mrs. Sidney, opening the next letter. 
 
 19
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Glancing over it she gave a startled ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 "Whew!" breathed the boy, reading over her 
 shoulder. " Poor Aunt Mary ! " 
 
 "Isabel, Aunt Mary has gone!" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Sidney. 
 
 "What! I did n't know she was ill. She 
 was n't ill. Who is there to attend to things? 
 Who wrote you ? " 
 
 "Eliza Brewster. This is from her. It was 
 very sudden. She had been at work at her easel 
 an hour before. How sad it seems ! How lonely ! 
 I wish we had both been there, Isabel. There is 
 the letter." Phil took it across to Mrs. Fabian. 
 "You see. She was buried day before yester- 
 day. Oh, I'm glad we had that little inter- 
 change in the summer. Eliza loves her, but, 
 after all, she is not her own." 
 
 Phil mechanically opened another letter. His 
 thoughts were with that unknown relative with 
 cravings like to his, working through the gath- 
 ering years toward a goal which had ever re- 
 treated before her. He unfolded a business 
 letter. It enclosed a small sealed envelope 
 addressed to himself in another handwrit- 
 ing. 
 
 "Aunt Mary's!" said his mother. The son's 
 20
 
 A November Night 
 
 arm was again around her as with heads close 
 together they perused the following: 
 
 MY DEAR GRAND-NEPHEW, PHILIP SIDNEY: 
 When you open this letter, I shall have gone 
 to a world where surely I shall be permitted to 
 come nearer to the source of beauty. 
 
 My family all consider me a failure. I know 
 it. They have laughed at my poor efforts. I 
 know it; but since your mother wrote to me a 
 month ago, sending me your sketches and tell- 
 ing me your longings, I have felt that out in the 
 free Western country, there lives one with my 
 blood in his veins, who will understand the 
 thirst that has led me on, and nerved me to un- 
 tiring effort that has made it my only hope 
 of happiness to live as I have lived, and work as 
 I have worked. He will also understand, per- 
 haps, that few as my rewards have been, I have 
 occasionally felt that some beauty has crept 
 through my brain and been fixed to the canvas, 
 and that such moments have given me the 
 highest bliss this world could bestow. 
 
 For a month, then, I have taken comfort in 
 my artist-boy, no matter if you are known to 
 others as an engineer. I have kept on my easel 
 the photograph your mother sent me, and every 
 
 21
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 day while I work, I look from time to time into 
 your eyes, your mother's lovely eyes. I rejoice 
 in your thick hair, and your splendid chin and 
 firm, full-curved mouth. It is n't often that a 
 head wanders from the Louvre and becomes 
 set on a pair of modern shoulders. I, the old 
 woman, peering through her spectacles, and 
 painting with a hand that is often far from 
 steady, have found a joy in studying the har- 
 mony of your promise. You have my blood in 
 your veins, but you will succeed where I have 
 failed. A happy failure, Philip. Don't feel sad 
 for me. I Ve had moments of joy that no one 
 knew. No one took the trouble to know; but 
 nobody is to blame. Lives are very full in these 
 rushing days. . 
 
 I believe in you, and I long for you to get 
 started toward that land where you fain would 
 be. Your mother says that the door has n't 
 opened yet. Looking into your young eyes, a 
 great thought came to me. Supposing I, the 
 ineffectual, could set that door ajar! With the 
 thought came the first great regret for my pov- 
 erty. Never mind, thought I stoutly; if I can 
 set that door a wee bit open, his young strength 
 can do the rest! 
 
 I have had warnings that soon the great door 
 22
 
 A November Night 
 
 will be opened for me; the door that ushers in to 
 the heart's desire. Mine has been for Truth 
 and Beauty, O God, Thou knowest! 
 
 So I am making my will such a poor little 
 short will; but all for you, my kindred spirit, 
 my knight who will deliver from failure, my 
 Philip Sidney. 
 
 The faithful maid Eliza will take care of my 
 effects for you. You will find some useful things 
 among the paraphernalia here. I look at my 
 old easel and wonder if it will ever be promoted 
 to hold a canvas of yours. 
 
 This letter will be enclosed to you in one from 
 my lawyer, telling you the business side of my 
 wishes. The heart side no one can tell. I swell 
 with longing for your success, and happiness ; 
 and so good-bye. 
 
 The mother who never had a son, gains one 
 in you. The painter who never was an artist, 
 becomes one in you ! 
 
 And so, dear, I am your happy 
 
 AUNT MARY. 
 
 Mary Sidney and her boy exchanged a look. 
 With unsteady hands Phil straightened the 
 legal letter, and they read it together. Then 
 they rose from the table with one accord. 
 
 23
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Mrs. Fabian, wrapped in thought, looked up 
 at the sudden movement. 
 
 Phil's concentrated gaze went past her to the 
 fire, and he stood motionless, one hand leaning 
 on the table, the other arm around his mother. 
 Mary Sidney clasped the rustling paper to her 
 breast. All the self-forgetfulness of mother-love 
 shone in her wet eyes as she met Mrs. Fabian's 
 questioning look. 
 
 "Isabel, I told you it would come," she said. 
 " I told you we should know. The light is here. 
 Phil is going to New York."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 SEVERED COMPANIONSHIP 
 
 ELIZA BREWSTER could count on the fingers of 
 one hand the number of times that tears had 
 escaped her pale eyes. She had always felt for 
 those who wept easily, the same leniency with- 
 out comprehension that she entertained for 
 women who fainted. 
 
 Trials had come and gone in her life; but 
 never, since the day when she discovered some 
 boys maltreating her cat, had she shed such 
 tears as flowed now in her sorrow. The cat's 
 abbreviated tail bore witness still to that day's 
 conflict, but both his wound and hers had 
 healed. 
 
 When would this new wound cease to ache 
 and palpitate! Each day there in the lonely 
 flat, Eliza Brewster renewed war with the mem- 
 ories to which she had no mind to succumb. 
 The gentleness of her mistress, her innocent, 
 ever-springing hope, her constant disappoint- 
 ments, the solitariness of her narrow life, the 
 neglect of her relatives all these things re- 
 
 25
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 curred to the faithful handmaiden with the 
 terrific appeal which contracts the newly bereft 
 heart, causing it to bleed afresh. Mary Ballard, 
 in spite of her twenty years' greater age, had 
 been child as well as mistress to the faithful 
 woman, who cared for the quiet, shy dreamer 
 of dreams through the twenty-five years of the 
 latter's widowhood. 
 
 Now Eliza's occupation was gone. All her 
 rather hard philosophy, all her habitual self- 
 possession, was swamped in a world where she 
 could no longer call her dear one from the easel 
 to her meals ; and where the rooms of the little 
 apartment grew spacious and echoed from sheer 
 emptiness. 
 
 Mrs. Ballard had bequeathed her maid all her 
 clothing, and all her personal possessions, save 
 one old-fashioned diamond brooch, which was 
 to be sent to her namesake, Mary Sidney. Some 
 weeks before her death, she told Eliza of the dis- 
 position of her effects. In referring to the small 
 gift of money which was to be hers, she said : 
 
 "I wish it were more, Eliza, but," looking 
 wistfully into the eyes of her companion, "I 
 have a great mission for my little capital as I 
 have told you. If only the amount were as great 
 as the object!" 
 
 26
 
 Severed Companionship 
 
 "Nonsense, talking about wills," rejoined 
 Eliza brusquely, a new delicacy in the loved 
 face making her tone sharp, "more likely I'll 
 be leaving something to you; though I don't 
 know what it would be, unless 't was the cat." 
 
 Mrs. Ballard smiled. "Not a bad legacy," 
 she replied. "Pluto is very sympathetic. He 
 likes to watch me paint. He has really con- 
 cluded to endure the smell of oil and turpentine 
 just to keep me company." 
 
 At the moment the night-black cat was lift- 
 ing green eyes of approval to his own portrait 
 which stood near, and Mrs. Ballard buried a 
 veined hand in his glossy fur. A few weeks later 
 that hand was still. Oh, the dear garments with 
 the outline of the wearer still warm in their 
 curves! Who has not known the tender, over- 
 powering anguish of their touch? Every day 
 Eliza tried to systematize and pack her new 
 belongings, and every day she postponed the 
 ordeal until to-morrow. 
 
 Mrs. Ballard's watch alone stood on the table 
 at the head of her bed, hanging in the little 
 satin slipper just as it had ticked beside her 
 mistress's sleeping form so many years. The 
 watch seemed as alive as Pluto, and almost as 
 much of a companion. It spoke eloquently of 
 
 27
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 the gentle being who had always been uncon- 
 scious of its warnings. 
 
 On the mantelpiece in the living-room, which 
 had been studio as well, was Philip Sidney's 
 photograph and his two sketches, one of his 
 mother, and one of a storm-beaten tree. They 
 were the two that Mary Sidney had sent in 
 response to her aunt's gift in the summer-time. 
 All three pictures were turned now to the wall. 
 Mrs. Sidney was a relative. That stamped her 
 for Eliza. The sketches had been either the 
 vainglorious gift of a fond mamma, or else 
 prompted by hope of the very result they had 
 gained. As for the photograph of the artist, 
 Eliza could not deny that it had marvellously 
 cheered and companioned the last months of 
 her dear one's life. 
 
 Indeed, in those days, recent yet already 
 seeming so long pact, Eliza, out in her kitchen, 
 had often laughed grimly to herself at the in- 
 fatuation for the picture shown by her mis- 
 tress. 
 
 " If she was sixteen she could n't be more 
 head over heels in love," she would soliloquize. 
 "I s'pose an artist has got to be just so stirred 
 up by good looks, whether it's a landscape or a 
 human; but I know I would n't trust a hand- 
 
 28
 
 Severed Companionship 
 
 some man around the corner with a dog's 
 dinner." 
 
 In pursuance of these reflections, when her 
 mistress had gone, Phil's picture went with the 
 sketches, his face to the wall. 
 
 Eliza's attitude toward the whole world was 
 defiance on the subject of her mistress's life- 
 work. Of course, Mrs. Ballard was an artist; a 
 great artist. Eliza knew it must be so, there 
 were so many of her pictures that she could not 
 understand. 
 
 . A canvas which was a blur to her contained 
 so much which the painter would explain while 
 Eliza stood devotedly by, dutifully assenting to 
 the unravelling of the snarl of form and color. 
 
 "You don't care for it, do you, Eliza?" the 
 artist would say sometimes, wistfully. 
 
 "Indeed, I do, Mrs. Ballard," would come 
 the response, and never words rang more 
 prompt and true. " I 'm just one o' those folks 
 so practical, I can't see an inch before my nose 
 and I've never had advantages. I have n't got 
 any insight, as you call it, beyond a dishpan; 
 but when you explain it so clear, that's when I 
 begin to see." 
 
 This latter was a loyal lie; as a rule, Eliza 
 never did see; but she applauded just the same 
 
 29
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 with vague murmurs of wonder and admiration. 
 
 It hurt the faithful soul even now to recall 
 how, when the sketches came from the West, 
 her mistress had eagerly examined them, and 
 bitten her lip, her eyes glistening. "There's the 
 true touch, Eliza," she had said quietly. "This 
 boy has a spark of the divine fire." 
 
 "Pooh! I don't think so at all," Eliza had 
 returned stoutly and contemptuously. "Of 
 course, that drawin' of his mother is pleasant 
 enough, but you have n't seen her in years. 
 You don't know how good the likeness is; and 
 as for that landscape, that rough twisted tree 
 most blown off its feet and clouds racin' above 
 those rocks, nobody 'd ever think they was any- 
 thing except just what they are, a tree and rocks 
 and clouds; awful pokerish, I call it, not a bit 
 pretty." Eliza's long nose lifted in scorn. 
 
 Mrs. Ballard smiled and bowed her head over 
 the wind-blown tree. 
 
 "My flesh and blood, still," she murmured. 
 
 Now, in the dreary days, Eliza moved about 
 aimlessly, forgetting to eat, and roused only by 
 Pluto's indignant meows, to remember that, 
 though he might mourn, still he felt that he 
 owed it to himself to keep his coat glossy by 
 milk baths, taken internally. 
 
 30
 
 Severed Companionship 
 
 Never had he known such long luxurious naps 
 in the lap of his mistress as now. Wrapped in 
 thought she sat for hours without moving; the 
 irrepressible tears welling up from her heart and 
 creeping, one by one, down her thin cheeks. 
 
 She had made no friends in the cheap apart- 
 ment building where they lived. It was a chang- 
 ing population, which ebbed and flowed at the 
 mercy of its own financial tide. 
 
 "There ain't a lady in this house except you," 
 Eliza had been wont to say to her mistress. 
 
 "I don't believe we know that," Mrs. Ballard 
 had rejoined; "but we're too busy for neigh- 
 boring, are n't we, Eliza?" 
 
 Whenever there had been any leisure, Mrs. 
 Ballard had taken her handmaiden to the 
 Metropolitan Museum of Art. 
 
 Not for worlds would Eliza mar the joy with 
 which her mistress bestowed upon her this 
 treat. So she climbed endless stairs, and 
 plodded weary miles with fortitude, having 
 ready a response to every worshipful utterance 
 with which Mrs. Ballard pointed out this and 
 that marvel. 
 
 "Wonderful, ain't it!" Eliza would respond 
 with the regularity of clockwork. 
 
 "How I love to get you out of that kitchen,
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Eliza, up into this atmosphere of genius!" her 
 mistress would say, in a burst of affection for 
 the strong mainspring of her household. 
 
 "Wonderful, ain't it!" returned the benefici- 
 ary, stepping on the other foot in the effort to 
 rest one leg. 
 
 1 The sight of the very exterior of the great 
 repository of art-treasures caused Eliza's bones 
 to ache, if she caught sight of the imposing pile 
 from a car window. 
 
 One day, however, all this was changed. The 
 Metropolitan Museum of Art rose in Eliza's 
 estimation to the level of her own kitchen where 
 a chromo depicting kittens in various attitudes 
 of abandon hung over the table. 
 
 Mistress and maid were doing the well-worn 
 circuit. The faithful echo had repeated "Won- 
 derful, ain't it!" for the twentieth time. The 
 ardor in Mrs. Ballard's eyes was lending wings 
 to her slender body, but Eliza had lagged, 
 spurred on, and rested the other leg, until, to 
 paraphrase a bit from Mr. Lowell 
 
 " On which leg she felt the worse, 
 She could n't V told you, 'nother," 
 
 when suddenly an inspiration of deliverance 
 seized her. The fact that it had not seized her 
 
 32
 
 Severed Companionship 
 
 months before was simply another proof of de- 
 votion to the sun of her existence. Each time 
 she entered the massive gates to her place of 
 torture, she left such mentality as she possessed 
 behind her. As well might a fish be expected 
 to navigate in the free air of heaven as Eliza 
 in these marble halls. This was her mistress's 
 element. Let her guide. But one memorable 
 day the two were standing before a marine. 
 
 "Oh, Eliza, that's new!" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Ballard; and from the vigor of her tone, her 
 handmaid feared the worst. She had believed 
 they were nearly ready to depart. Now her 
 companion seemed inspired for another two 
 hours. 
 
 "Might it not have been painted from your 
 island," continued Mrs. Ballard. "What ador- 
 able work!" 
 
 "Wonderful, ain't it! "came Eliza's wooden 
 accents. 
 
 "What feeling!" murmured her rapt com- 
 panion. 
 
 " I only hope 't ain't sciatica," thought 
 Eliza, wiggling her hip. Her casually roving eye 
 caught sight of one vacancy on the bench in the 
 middle of the room. 
 
 "Don't you want to sit down a spell and look 
 33
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 at it, Mrs. Ballard?" she asked. "There's a 
 place." 
 
 "No," was the slow, absent reply. "I seem 
 to prefer to stand in its presence a royal 
 presence, Eliza." 
 
 Miss Brewster waited no longer. With incon- 
 tinent haste she limped, as in seven-league 
 boots, toward the desired haven. She saw that 
 a portly gentleman was heading for the same 
 spot. She sprinted. She beat him by a toe's 
 length, and nearly received him on her maiden 
 lap. He recovered himself and glared at her. 
 She maintained an unconscious air, her gaze 
 fixed on the sky of the marine painting. It was 
 all she could see ; there were so many standing 
 in front of her, welcoming this new treasure to 
 the home of beauty. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Ballard, missing her shadow, 
 looked about and at last descried Eliza. She 
 approached, her small, veined hands clasped on 
 her breast for joy. 
 
 " It seems as if it must have been done from 
 the island!" she exclaimed. "How can you sit 
 down, Eliza ! I should think it would take you 
 straight to your old home!" 
 
 Miss Brewster did not say that she thought 
 there was more likelihood of her again seeing 
 
 34
 
 Severed Companionship 
 
 her native place if she did sit down; but for 
 once her clockwork did not act. It seemed as if 
 the succumbing of her legs had impeded the 
 other mechanism. 
 
 "I just felt as if I had to, Mrs. Ballard," she 
 answered numbly. 
 
 "You dear!" exclaimed her mistress impul- 
 sively, speaking low. "I might have known it. 
 You felt overcome. I don't wonder. It took me 
 back to the island, too, in a flash! I dare say 
 you often conceal homesickness from me, Eliza. 
 We must try to go there next summer! I did 
 use to think that perhaps Mrs. Fabian but, 
 no matter; we can go on our own account, 
 Eliza, and we will, too." 
 
 " It would be lots better for you than staying 
 here in summer, that's sure." 
 
 Mrs. Ballard sighed, "Yes, if only the rent 
 did n't keep on, and keep on." 
 
 Eliza knew the arguments. She did not pur- 
 sue the subject now. She rose, keeping firm 
 pressure, however, against the bench. 
 
 "Take this place, Mrs. Ballard, and rest a 
 minute." 
 
 "Oh, I 'm not a bit tired. I thought we 'd take 
 one or two more rooms. The light is wonderful 
 to-day." 
 
 35
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Up to the present moment Eliza in this tem- 
 ple of genius had, as has been said, galvanized 
 her energies and followed where her mistress led, 
 at any cost, as unquestioningly as the needle 
 follows the magnet; but this was the moment 
 of her emancipation. Mrs. Ballard herself gave 
 her the cue, for she added with consideration 
 for an unwonted sentiment : 
 
 "Unless you'd rather stay and look at that 
 reminder of home a while longer, Eliza? I'll 
 come back for you." 
 
 "Oh, would you, just as soon, Mrs. Ballard?" 
 
 The eagerness of the tone touched her mis- 
 tress. 
 
 "Why, of course, my dear, do so; but I'd get 
 up if I were you." Eliza had sunk back upon 
 the bench with the certainty and impact of a 
 pile-driver. "There is such a crowd you can't 
 see anything from here but the sky." 
 
 "I feel as if I could look at that sky for a 
 week," responded Eliza with a sincerity which 
 admitted of no doubt. 
 
 "It is wonderful, isn't it?" returned her 
 mistress, unconscious of plagiarism. She patted 
 Eliza's shoulder. "I'll be back soon," she as- 
 sured her, and moved away. 
 
 "The good creature!" she thought. "How 
 
 36
 
 Severed Companionship 
 
 selfish I have been to her! I ought occasionally 
 to let her go home; but I know she'd never 
 go without me. She would n't believe that I 'd 
 eat three meals a day, no matter how faith- 
 fully I promised." And Mrs. Ballard laughed 
 a little before becoming engrossed in an old 
 favorite. 
 
 She was gone so long that Eliza cogitated 
 with newly acquired ingenuity. 
 
 "It's a good thing," she reflected, "that the 
 fool-catcher ain't artistic. He'd 'a' caught me 
 here lots o' times. Supposin' I was with that 
 dear crazy critter all this time, hoppin' along 
 in misery, or standin' in front o' some paintin' 
 like a stork." Eliza's light eyes twinkled. 
 "Why should n't I set up a taste in pictures, 
 too? Just watch me from this on." 
 
 After this day Mrs. Ballard did observe with 
 joy a transformation in her handmaid's atti- 
 tude. When they visited the galleries Eliza 
 would move along with her usual calm until 
 suddenly some picture would particularly hold 
 her attention. 
 
 "Is that a very fine paintin'?" she would ask 
 of her cicerone. 
 
 " Which one, Eliza ? Oh, yes, I see. Certainly, 
 or it would n't be here; but in that next room 
 
 37
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 are those I thought we should make a study of 
 to-day." 
 
 Eliza's light eyes swept the unbroken pol- 
 ished surface of the floor of the adjoining room. 
 "I know I have n't got very far along in under- 
 standin' these things," she said modestly, "but 
 to my eyes there is a certain somethin' there," 
 she paused and let her transfixed gaze to- 
 ward the chosen picture say the rest. 
 
 Mrs. Ballard held her lip between her teeth 
 reflectively as she looked at it too. On that first 
 occasion it was a summer landscape painted at 
 sunset. 
 
 "We 've passed it many times," she thought, 
 "but it's evident that Eliza is waking up!" 
 
 The reflection was exultant. Far be it from 
 Mrs. Ballard to interrupt the birth throes of her 
 companion's artistic consciousness. 
 
 "Then stay right here, Eliza, as long as you 
 wish," she replied sympathetically. " I shall be 
 nearby." 
 
 She hurried away in her light-footed fashion, 
 and Eliza continued to stand before her cyno- 
 sure long enough to disarm possible suspicion, 
 and then backed thoughtfully away until she 
 reached a bench upon which she sank, still with 
 eyes upon the picture. 
 
 38
 
 Severed Companionship 
 
 Mrs. Ballard from the next room observed her 
 trance. 
 
 "She is waking up. Her eyes are opening, 
 bless her heart," she thought. "Constant 
 dropping does wear the stone." 
 
 Eliza would have paraphrased the proverb 
 and declared that constant dropping saves the 
 life. 
 
 From this day on she professed, and trium- 
 phantly acted upon, an appreciation for certain 
 pictures; and Mrs. Ballard marvelled with 
 pride at the catholicity of her taste; for such 
 serpentine wisdom did Eliza display in passing, 
 unseeing, many an inviting bench, that never, 
 to their last pilgrimage to Mrs. Ballard's mecca, 
 did the latter suspect the source of her com- 
 panion's modest enthusiasm. 
 
 "Poor thing," thought Eliza during these 
 periods of rest; "it's a sin and a shame that she 
 has n't got anybody worthy to come with her. 
 If those relatives of hers were, any of 'em, fit to 
 live, one of 'em would bring her here sometimes. 
 The poor dear, as long as she has n't a soul but 
 an ignorant country body like me to sympa- 
 thize with her, I've got to do my best; and 
 really if I set a spell once in a while, I '11 have 
 more sprawl and can seem to enjoy it more. 
 
 39
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 It's awful hard when you can't think of any- 
 thing but your joints ! I 'm younger 'n she is, 
 and I'm ashamed o' gettin' so tuckered; but 
 she's got some kind o' wings that seem to lift 
 her along." 
 
 Mrs. Ballard, from the next room, caught 
 Eliza's eye, smiled, and nodded, well pleased. 
 So the era of peace ensued; and when Miss 
 Brewster caught sight from a street car of the 
 Metropolitan Museum of Art, she was able to 
 regard it without a frown.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 MRS. FABIAN'S VISIT 
 
 ELIZA was not obliged to give up the apartment 
 until the end of the month. Hence her drifting 
 from day to day, and Pluto's naps in the lap of 
 luxury. 
 
 All her energy and systematic habits were in 
 a state of suspension. Her clocks ran down. 
 The watch in the tiny satin slipper beside her 
 bed alone ticked the minutes away, and when 
 Eliza wound it her eyes were too wet to see the 
 time. Night fell and she went to bed. Morning 
 dawned and she arose. She drank tea, but it 
 was too much trouble to eat. 
 
 One day the bell rang. At first she deter- 
 mined not to answer it. Then second thought 
 came to her. What was she waiting here for 
 except to answer the bell ? Was her next duty 
 not to introduce the usurper into his kingdom 
 to give into his desecrating hands those 
 objects, easel, palette, brushes, paints, 
 hallowed by her dear one's use? At the sound 
 of a knock she hastened to fling open the door. 
 
 41
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Mrs. Fabian, elegantly gowned and furred, 
 stood before her. 
 
 Eliza gazed at this apparition dumb. 
 
 "Why, Eliza Brewster," exclaimed the vis- 
 itor with concern, "I scarcely knew you." 
 After the mutual gaze of astonishment the 
 caller moved in with her air of stately assur- 
 ance, and Eliza followed her perforce into the 
 living-room. Here Mrs. Fabian swiftly ex- 
 amined the possibilities of the scanty chairs, 
 then seated herself in the largest. 
 
 "You have been ill, too, Eliza? You look 
 like a ghost!" 
 
 The gaunt woman in the alpaca dress, so 
 filled with resentment that she begrudged her 
 own tears because they informed this " relative" 
 of her grief, stood in silence with a beating 
 heart. 
 
 " Sit down, you poor creature," went on Mrs. 
 Fabian, unsuspecting hidden fires. 
 
 They burned higher at the tone of patronage, 
 but Eliza, weakened from mourning and lack of 
 food, felt her knees trembling and sank into the 
 nearest chair. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian, genuinely touched by the 
 ravages she saw, broke the silence that fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 42
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Visit 
 
 "I was greatly surprised and shocked to hear 
 of Aunt Mary's sudden going." 
 
 She began to feel uncomfortable under the 
 set gaze of Eliza's swollen eyes. 
 
 " I suppose you sent to my house at once, and 
 found that Mr. Fabian and I were in the far 
 West." 
 
 "No, I did n't think of sending," returned 
 Eliza. 
 
 "You should have done so. Surely there was 
 no one nearer to Aunt Mary than I." 
 
 "It was in the paper," said Eliza dully. 
 
 "Had I been here I should, of course, have 
 taken charge of the funeral." 
 
 The pale eyes emitted a curious light. 
 
 "No, you would n't, Mrs. Fabian," was the 
 quiet reply. 
 
 "Why do you say that ? " 
 
 "Because the time for you to have done 
 something for Mrs. Ballard was while she was 
 alive." 
 
 Eliza was too spent physically to speak other 
 than softly, but her words brought the amazed 
 color to her visitor's face. 
 
 "You are presuming," Mrs. Fabian said, 
 after a moment. "What do you know about 
 it? I suppose Aunt Mary did not think it 
 
 43
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 worth while to tell you all the things I did for 
 her." 
 
 "No," agreed Eliza, "she never said a word 
 about the times you came with your automo- 
 bile to take her riding; nor the picture exhibi- 
 tions you took her to see, or the way you had 
 her to dinner Thanksgivin' time and other 
 times, or how you had her to spend part o' the 
 summer with you at the island, or " 
 
 "Eliza Brewster, what does this mean ! " Mrs. 
 Fabian's eyes were dilated. "Aunt Mary was 
 not related to my husband or to his children. 
 I never expected him to marry my family." 
 
 Miss Brewster's gaze was fixed upon the 
 speaker with pale scorn, but the latter contin- 
 ued with what she endeavored to make a digni- 
 fied defence. "I always sent Aunt Mary a 
 present at Christmas." 
 
 "Yes," interrupted Eliza. "Last season 
 'twas a paper-cutter. You gave her cuts 
 enough without that." 
 
 "And I called upon her at intervals," con- 
 tinued the visitor in a heightened tone to drown 
 the small voice. 
 
 "Intervals of a year," said Eliza. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian started to rise, but bethought 
 herself, and sank back. 
 
 44
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Visit 
 
 "You are impertinent," she said coldly. "A 
 person in your position cannot understand the 
 duties of one in mine. There can be no discus- 
 sion between you and me." The speaker stirred 
 in her chair and collected herself. "I and 
 every one of Aunt Mary's relatives appreci- 
 ate your faithful service to her, and thank you 
 for it." 
 
 "Don't you dare!" ejaculated Eliza, with 
 such sudden belligerency that Mrs. Fabian 
 started. 
 
 "You 're almost crazed with fatigue and grief, 
 poor creature," she said at last. "I can see that 
 you are scarcely responsible for what you say 
 to-day. You must take a long rest. Shall you 
 go home to the island or take another place in 
 town ? I can find you one." 
 1 Mrs. Fabian felt the superiority of her own 
 self-control as she made this kind offer; besides, 
 in these troublous days with servants, steady, 
 reliable Eliza, with a sure touch in cookery, was 
 not to be despised. The visitor accompanied 
 her offer with a soothing attempt at a smile. 
 
 Eliza had relapsed into dullness. "I won't 
 trouble you," she said. 
 
 "It would not be any trouble," was the 
 magnanimous reply. "Just let me know any 
 
 45
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 time when you would like a reference, Eliza. It 
 will give me pleasure to reward your faithful- 
 
 ness." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian loved approval quite as much as 
 she did admiration. She would feel much more 
 comfortable to win that of even this uncom- 
 promising, cranky individual, so lined with the 
 signs of suffering. As Eliza Brewster was a 
 native of the island where Mrs. Fabian had 
 resorted from the days of her girlhood, she had 
 a very slight but old acquaintance with this 
 woman. As she glanced at the thin hair, now 
 fast turning grey, the sunken eyes and cheeks, 
 and the bony, roughened hands, she shuddered 
 beneath her ermine-lined sables, to remember 
 that she and Eliza Brewster were about the 
 same age. She passed a white-gloved hand over 
 the firm contour of her smooth cheek as if to 
 make sure of its firmness. "I believe it was I 
 who recommended you to Aunt Mary in the 
 first place, long ago," she added. 
 
 "That's one o' your mistakes," said Eliza 
 drily. 
 
 "On the contrary," returned Mrs. Fabian 
 graciously. She was determined to warm this 
 forlorn specimen of New England frigidity into 
 something humanly companionable, else how
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Visit 
 
 was she going to attain the object of her visit? 
 She went on with such flattery of manner as she 
 might have employed toward a desirable de- 
 butante. "It has proved quite the best thing 
 that I ever did for Aunt Mary; securing her 
 comfort and thereby the peace of mind of all 
 who belonged to her. Don't call it a mistake, 
 Eliza." 
 
 "However that may be," returned the other 
 immovably, " 't wa'n't you that did it. 'T was 
 your Cousin Mary." 
 
 "Oh was it ? Oh, indeed ? " responded Mrs. 
 Fabian, slipping back her furs still further. 
 Eliza Brewster's disagreeable manner was mak- 
 ing her nervous. "Yes, I believe Mrs. Sidney 
 was with us on her wedding-trip just at that 
 time. Mr. Fabian and I have just returned 
 from visiting Mrs. Sidney out in her wild 
 mountain home." 
 
 Eliza's eyes roved involuntarily to two blank 
 sheets of board standing on the mantelpiece; 
 but she was silent. 
 
 "Do you know the contents of Aunt Mary's 
 will, Eliza?" asked Mrs. Fabian, after waiting 
 vainly for an inquiry as to her cousin's well- 
 being. 
 
 "I do." 
 
 47
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "What do you think of it?" 
 
 "That don't matter, does it?" 
 
 A streak of light illumined Mrs. Fabian's 
 annoyance. Ah, that was what was the matter 
 with Eliza. After twenty-five years of faithful 
 service, she had expected to inherit her mis- 
 tress's few hundreds. Full explanation, this, of 
 the present sullenness. The disappointment 
 must, indeed, have been bitter. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian felt an impulse of genuine sym- 
 pathy. She knew the singular loneliness of 
 Eliza's situation; knew that she had no near 
 kin, and the transplanting from the island home 
 had been complete. What an outlook now, was 
 Eliza Brewster's! 
 
 "Perhaps the will was as much of a surprise 
 to you as it was to the rest of us," Mrs. Fabian 
 went on. "The Sidneys were amazed. They 
 did n't tell me just how much Aunt Mary left 
 young Mr. Sidney. Do you know?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Eliza promptly. 
 
 And again Mrs. Fabian looked at her inter- 
 rogatively. As well question the Sphinx. She 
 comprehended the stony closing of the thin lips. 
 There might be a combination which would 
 make them open, but she did not have it. She 
 shrugged her fine-cloth shoulders. "Oh, well,
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Visit 
 
 it does n't matter. It must have been very 
 little, anyway." 
 
 t She sighed. She must get at her business, 
 though she dreaded absurdly to introduce it. 
 "Well, Eliza, if you will take me to Aunt 
 Mary's room, I will go through her belongings. 
 It is always the most painful duty connected 
 with a death, but it cannot be escaped." 
 
 Eliza stared at her, speechless. 
 
 "Aunt Mary had a few very nice things," 
 went on Mrs. Fabian. She tried to smile as at 
 a loving memory. "The regulation treasures of 
 a dear old lady, her diamond ring, a diamond 
 brooch, and a camel's hair shawl My 
 heavens!" cried the visitor, interrupting herself 
 suddenly with a shriek of terror. "Take it 
 away! Take it away!" 
 
 She clung to the back of her chair; for Pluto, 
 silent as a shadow, had sprung upon the ends of 
 her pelerine as they lay in her lap and was 
 daintily nosing the fur, while perilously grasp- 
 ing its richness, his eyes glowing with excite- 
 ment. Eliza rose, and sweeping him into one 
 arm resumed her seat. 
 
 "Oh, how that frightened me!" Mrs. Fabian 
 panted and looked angrily at the animal with 
 the jetty coat and abbreviated tail, whose eyes, 
 
 49
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 live emeralds, expanded and contracted as they 
 glowed still upon the coveted fur. 
 
 If she expected an apology, none came. 
 Eliza's pale face showed no emotion. Endur- 
 ance was written in every line. 
 
 "To' be interrupted at such a critical mo- 
 ment!" Mrs. Fabian felt it was unbearable. 
 
 "Let me see" she began again with a 
 little laugh. "Your pet knocked everything 
 out of my head, Eliza. Oh, yes, I was saying 
 that I will look over Aunt Mary's things 
 
 now." 
 
 She rose as she spoke. Eliza kept her seat. 
 
 "You can't do that, Mrs. Fabian." 
 
 "I certainly shall, Eliza Brewster. What do 
 you mean?" 
 
 "I mean that they're mine. She left 'em all 
 to me." 
 
 The speaker struggled to control the trem- 
 bling of her lips. 
 
 The visitor looked the limp black alpaca 
 figure over, haughtily. 
 
 "Aunt Mary left you her diamond ring, her 
 diamond brooch, and her camel's hair shawl?" 
 she asked sceptically. 
 
 "She left her diamond brooch to her name- 
 sake, Mrs. Sidney. I sent it to her a week ago." 
 
 50 '
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Visit 
 
 "Then, since you know Aunt Mary's wishes, 
 what did she leave me? The ring?" 
 
 "No, ma'am!" 
 
 "The shawl?" 
 
 "No, ma'am." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian's nostrils dilated. 
 
 "My aunt's poor trifles are nothing to me, of 
 course, except for sentiment's sake," she said 
 haughtily. 
 
 Eliza bowed her bitter face over Pluto's fur. 
 
 "I am quite sure, however, that she did not 
 pass away without some mention of me, her 
 sister's child." 
 
 "She did, though, Mrs. Fabian. If it's a 
 keepsake you want," added Eliza drily, "you 
 may have the paper-cutter. It's never been 
 out o' the box." 
 
 The visitor, still standing, eyed the other 
 with compressed lips before she spoke : 
 
 "I have told you that I don't consider you 
 responsible to-day. You are half-crazed, and 
 I'm sorry for you. Answer me this, however, 
 and mind, I shall verify your words by a visit to 
 Mrs. Ballard's lawyer. Did my aunt leave you, 
 legally, all her personal possessions?" 
 
 "She did." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian maintained another space of
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 silence, gazing at the seated figure, whose gown 
 looked rusty behind the polished lynx-black 
 pressed against it. There was no mistaking the 
 truth in the pale, wretched eyes. 
 
 "Disappointed about the money, though, 
 and taking out her ill temper on me," thought 
 the visitor. 
 
 To Eliza's increased heaviness of heart, the 
 lady resumed her seat. 
 
 "Aunt Mary's death was sudden and unex- 
 pected and that explains her not speaking of 
 me," she said; "but I know it would please 
 her that I should use something that she had 
 owned. I remember that shawl as being a very 
 good one. It came to her from some of 
 her husband's people. I'll buy that of you, 
 Eliza." 
 
 "Will you?" returned the other, and Pluto 
 emitted an indignant yowl and tried to leap 
 from the tightening hold. 
 
 "Don't you let him go, Eliza!" cried Mrs. 
 Fabian in a panic. "He's crazy about my fur. 
 They always are. Yes, the shawl is of no use 
 to you and the money will be. It is so fine, it 
 would be wicked to cut it into a wrap. I shall 
 spread it on my grand piano." 
 
 Silence, while Eliza struggled still to control 
 52
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Visit 
 
 the trembling lips, and Pluto twisted to escape 
 her imprisoning arm. 
 
 "I'm willing to give you twenty-five dollars 
 for that shawl." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian waited, and presently Eliza 
 spoke : 
 
 "It ain't enough," she said, against her 
 impeding breath. 
 
 "Fifty, then. We all feel grateful to you." 
 
 "Mrs. Fabian," Eliza sat up in her chair as if 
 galvanized and looked her visitor in the eyes, 
 while she spoke with unsteady solemnity, "the 
 price o' that shawl is one million dollars." 
 
 The visitor stared at the shabby figure with 
 the grey, unkempt locks, then shrugged her 
 shoulders with a smile. "You'll come to your 
 senses, Eliza," she said. "Some day that fifty 
 dollars will look very good to you. I '11 hold the 
 offer open " 
 
 "Likewise," added Eliza, breaking in upon 
 her words with heightened voice, but the same 
 deliberation, "that is the price of each handker- 
 chief she left me, and each one of her little, 
 wornout slippers, and her " 
 
 She could get no further. She choked. Mrs.Fa- 
 bian rose; Pluto, with another cry and a supreme 
 writhe, tore himself from his iron prison. 
 
 53
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 The visitor shuddered, and looked at him 
 fearfully, as his eager eyes seemed to threaten 
 her. She hastened precipitately toward the 
 door. 
 
 Eliza, putting the utmost constraint upon 
 herself, rose and ushered her out. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian uttered a brief good-bye. Eliza 
 was beyond speech. 
 
 While the visitor entered her waiting car, 
 and sank with relief among its cushions, the 
 mourner stood, her back against the closed 
 door, and her eyes closed. 
 
 Restrained drops ran down her cheeks in 
 well-worn ruts, and occasionally a spasmodic 
 sob shook the slight form. 
 
 Pluto came to her feet, his short tail stiffly 
 outstretched and his half-closed eyes lifted to 
 the sightless face. In the long silence he rubbed 
 himself against her feet in token of forgiveness.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 PHILIP SIDNEY 
 
 THE Fabians had given Philip Sidney a pressing 
 invitation to spend his first week in New York 
 with them. When he arrived, however, and 
 announced himself at the house, through some 
 misunderstanding there was no one there to 
 receive him save the servants. 
 
 A comely maid apologized for the absence of 
 her mistress, saying that Mr. Sidney had not 
 been expected until the following day; and 
 showing him to his room she left him to his own 
 devices. 
 
 Emerging from his bath and toilet, he found 
 Mrs. Fabian not yet returned. It was but 
 four o'clock, and he decided to go to the 
 Ballard apartment and attend to his errand 
 there. 
 
 Eliza had been doing some sweeping, the 
 need for it goading her New England conscience 
 to action. Her brown calico dress was pinned 
 up over her petticoat, and her stern, lined face 
 looked out from a sweeping-cap. 
 
 55
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 There sounded suddenly a vigorous knock on 
 her door. 
 
 She scowled. "Some fresh agent, I s'pose," 
 she thought. "Too sly to speak up the tube." 
 
 Broom in hand, she strode to the door and 
 pulled it open with swift indignation. 
 
 "Why didn't you ring?" she exclaimed 
 fiercely. "We don't want " 
 
 She paused, her mouth open, and stared at 
 the young man who pulled off a soft felt hat, 
 and looked reassuring and breezy as he smiled. 
 
 " I did ring, but it was the wrong apartment. 
 There was no card downstairs, so I started up 
 the trail. Is this Mrs. Ballard's?" 
 
 The frank face, which she instantly recog- 
 nized, and the clear voice that had a non- 
 citified deliberation, accused Eliza of lack of 
 hospitality; and she suddenly grew intensely 
 conscious of her cap and petticoat. 
 
 "Come in," she said. "I was doin' some 
 sweepin'. The first " she paused abruptly 
 and led the way down the corridor to the 
 shabby living-room. 
 
 Phil's long steps followed her while his eyes 
 shone with appreciation of the drum-major 
 effect of the cap and broom, and the memory of 
 his fierce greeting.
 
 Philip Sidney 
 
 "I don't wonder Aunt Mary died," he 
 thought. "I would too." 
 
 Meanwhile Eliza's heart was thumping. This 
 interview was the climax of all she had dreaded. 
 The usurper had an even more manly and at- 
 tractive exterior than she had expected, but 
 well she knew the brutal indifference of youth; 
 the selfishness that takes all things for granted, 
 and that secretly despises the treasures of the 
 old. 
 
 The haste with which she set the broom in 
 the corner, unpinned her dress, and pulled off 
 her cap, was tribute to the virile masculinity 
 of the visitor; but the stony expression of her 
 face was defence from the blows which she 
 felt he would deliver with the same airy un- 
 consciousness that showed in the swing of his 
 walk. 
 
 "You're Eliza Brewster, I'm sure," he said. 
 "My mother knew you when she was a girl." 
 
 The hasty removal of Eliza's cap had caused 
 a weird flying-out of her locks. The direct gaze 
 bent upon her twinkled. 
 
 "I wonder if she'd let me paint her as 
 Medusa," he was thinking; while her unspoken 
 comment was : " And she never saw his 
 teeth! It's just as well." 
 
 57
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Yes, that 's who I am," she said. " Sit down, 
 Mr. Sidney. I've been expectin' you." 
 
 "You did n't behave that way," he replied 
 good-naturedly, obeying. " I thought at first I 
 was going downstairs quicker than I came up, 
 and I 'd taken them three at a time." 
 
 His manner was disarming and Eliza 
 smoothed her flying locks. 
 
 "The agents try to sneak around the rules o' 
 the house," she said briefly. 
 
 "So this is where Aunt Mary lived." He 
 looked about the room with interest. "We 
 people in God's country hear about these flats 
 where you don't dare keep a dog for fear it'll 
 wag its tail and knock something over." 
 
 The troublesome lump in Eliza's throat had 
 to be swallowed, so the visitor's keen glance 
 swept about the bare place in silence. 
 
 " I see she did n't go in much for jim-cracks," 
 he added presently. 
 
 Eliza's lump was swallowed. "Mrs. Ballard 
 did n't care for common things," she said 
 coldly. "She was an artist." 
 
 Phil comprehended vaguely that rebuke was 
 implied, and he met the hard gaze as he hast- 
 ened to reply : 
 
 "Yes, yes, I understand." An increase of the 
 58
 
 Philip Sidney 
 
 pathos he had always discerned since learning 
 about his great-aunt, swept over him now, face 
 to face with the meagreness of her surroundings. 
 "Did Aunt Mary work in this room? I see an 
 easel over there." 
 
 "Yes, she worked here." The reply came in 
 an expressionless voice. 
 
 "Poor Aunt Mary!" thought the visitor. 
 " No companion but this image ! " 
 
 Eliza exerted heroic self-control as she con- 
 tinued: "I've got the things packed up for you 
 the paints, and brushes, and palette. The 
 easel's yours, too. Do you want to take 'em 
 to-day?" 
 
 "Would it be a convenience to you if I did? 
 Are you going to give up the flat immediately ? " 
 
 "In a week." 
 
 "Then I '11 leave them a few days if you don't 
 mind while I 'm looking for a room. I have n't 
 an idea where to go. I 'm more lost here than I 
 ever was in the woods; but the Fabians will 
 advise me, perhaps. Mrs. Fabian has been here 
 to see you, I suppose." 
 
 Eliza's thin lips parted in a monosyllable of 
 assent. 
 
 "What a wooden Indian!" thought Phil. 
 Nevertheless, being a genial soul and having 
 
 59
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 heard Miss Brewster's faithfulness extolled, he 
 talked on: "We hear about New York streets 
 being canyons. They are that, and the sky-line 
 is amazing ; but the noise, great heavens, 
 what a racket! and I can't seem to get a 
 breath." 
 
 The young fellow rose restlessly, throwing 
 back his shoulders, and paced the little room, 
 filling it with his mountain stride. 
 
 Eliza Brewster watched him. She thought of 
 her mistress, and the pride and joy it would 
 have been to her to receive this six feet of man- 
 hood under her roof. 
 
 " She would n't 'a' kept her sentimental 
 dreams long," reflected Eliza bitterly. "He'd 
 'a' hurt her, he'd 'a' stepped on her feelin's and 
 never known it. He walks as if he had spurs on 
 his boots." She steeled herself against consid- 
 ering him through Mrs. Ballard's eyes. "He's 
 better-lookin' than the picture," she thought, 
 " and I would n't trust a handsome man as far 
 as I could see him. They have n't any business 
 with beauty and it always upsets 'em one way 
 or another yes, every time." 
 
 Her eyes wandered to the mantelpiece whose 
 bareness was relieved only by three varying 
 sized pieces of blank paper. She felt the slight- 
 
 60
 
 Philip Sidney 
 
 est quiver of remorse as she looked. She seemed 
 to see her mistress's gentle glance filled with 
 rebuke. 
 
 She stirred in her chair, folded her arms, and 
 cleared her throat. 
 
 "You can leave the things here till I go, if 
 you want to," she said. 
 
 Phil paused in his promenade and regarded 
 her. Her manner was so unmistakably inimical 
 that for the first time he wondered. 
 1 . Perhaps, after all, she was not just a machine. 
 And the same thought which had been enter- 
 tained by Mrs. Fabian occurred to him. 
 
 "Twenty-five years of faithful service," he 
 reflected. " I wonder if she expected the money ? 
 She's sore at me. That's a cinch." 
 
 Phil's artist nature grasped her standpoint in 
 a flash. The granite face, with its signs of suffer- 
 ing, the loneliness, the poverty, all appealed to 
 him to excuse her disappointment. 
 
 His eyes swept about the bare walls. 
 
 "Where are Aunt Mary's pictures?" he 
 asked. "Was she too modest to hang them?" 
 
 "There were some up there," replied Eliza. 
 "I took 'em down." 
 
 The visitor's quick eyes noted the white 
 boards on the mantelpiece. With an unex- 
 
 61
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 pected movement, he strode across to it, and 
 turned them around. 
 
 He stood in the same position for a space. 
 
 "Great guns, but she hates me!" he thought, 
 while Eliza, startled, felt the shamed color 
 stream up to her temples. 
 
 "What would Mrs. Ballard say!" was her 
 guilty reflection. 
 
 Pluto here relieved the situation by making a 
 majestic entrance. His jewel eyes fixed on the 
 stranger for a moment with blinking indiffer- 
 ence, then he proceeded, with measured tread, 
 toward the haven of his mistress's lap. 
 
 "Hello, Katze," said Phil, stooping his scar- 
 let face. He seized the creature by the nape of 
 its neck and instantly the amazed cat was 
 swung up to his broad shoulder, where it sat, 
 claws digging into his coat and eyes glowering 
 into his own. 
 
 " Say, charcoal would make a white mark on 
 you, pussy," he went on, smoothing the crea- 
 ture in a manner which evidently found favor, 
 for Pluto did not offer to stir. 
 
 "When I'm not doing her as Medusa," he 
 reflected, "I'll paint her as a witch with this 
 familiar. She'll only have to look at the artist 
 to get the right expression." 
 
 62
 
 Philip Sidney 
 
 "A distinguished visitor from the island of 
 Manx, I suspect," he said aloud. 
 
 "No," returned Eliza, still fearfully embar- 
 rassed. "Pluto was born right here in New 
 York." 
 
 The ever-ready stars in the visitor's eyes 
 twinkled again into the green fire opposite them. 
 
 "It was his tail I was noticing. Manx cats 
 are like that." 
 
 "Oh, that was boys. If I could V caught 
 'em I'd 'a' liked to cut off their arms." 
 
 "I'll bet on that," thought Phil, "and their 
 legs too." 
 
 Eliza cleared her throat. She seemed still to 
 see the gentle eyes of her lost one rebuking her. 
 With utter disregard of a future state she was 
 preparing a lie. 
 
 "About those sketches," she said presently, 
 and such was her hoarseness that she was 
 obliged to clear her throat again, "you see, 
 I was sweepin', and I turned 'em to the 
 wall." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Phil, and continued to 
 smooth Pluto who purred lustily. "A pretty 
 good one for New England," he thought; and 
 carelessly turning the third card about, he came 
 face to face with his own photograph. 
 
 63
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 With one glance of disgust he tore the picture 
 in two and threw it down. 
 
 Eliza started. "What did you do that for?" 
 she demanded sharply. 
 
 Phil made a motion of impatience. 
 
 "Oh, it's so darned pretty!" he explained. 
 "I thought all those pictures were in the fire." 
 
 "Mrs. Ballard set great store by that," said 
 Eliza coldly, "and by the sketches, too," she 
 added. 
 
 She was sitting up stiffly in her chair, now, 
 and her gaze fixed on Phil, as, her cat on his 
 shoulder singing loud praise of his fondling 
 hand, he came and stood before her. 
 
 "I wish you'd let me see some of Aunt 
 Mary's pictures," he said. 
 
 The dead woman's letter was against his 
 heart. He felt that they were standing to- 
 gether, opposed to the hard, grudging face 
 confronting him. 
 
 But this was Eliza's crucial moment. In spite 
 of herself she feared in the depths of her heart 
 that that which Mrs. Ballard had said was true; 
 that this restless, careless boy had an artistic 
 ability which her dear one had never attained. 
 She shrank with actual nausea from his com- 
 ments on her mistress's work. He might not
 
 Philip Sidney 
 
 say anything unkind, but she should see the 
 lines of his mouth, the quiver of an eyelash. 
 
 She felt unable to rise. 
 
 "She left 'em all to me," she said-mechanic- 
 ally, pale eyes meeting dark ones. 
 
 Phil brushed Pluto's ears and the cat sang 
 through the indignity. 
 
 "Talk about the bark on a tree!" he 
 thought. "I believe I'll paint her as a miser, 
 after all! She'd be a wonder, with Pluto stand- 
 ing guard, green eyes peering out of the 
 shadow." 
 
 He smiled down at Eliza, the curves of his 
 lips stretching over the teeth she had admired. 
 
 "All right," he said. "I'm not going to take 
 them away from you." 
 
 Eliza forced herself to her feet, and without 
 another word slowly left the room. 
 
 Phil met the cat's blinking eyes where the 
 pupils were dilating and contracting. "Katze, 
 this place gives me the horrors!" he confided. 
 
 More than once on the train he had read over 
 his aunt's letter, and each time her words smote 
 an answering chord in his heart and set it to 
 aching. 
 
 The present visit accentuated the perception 
 of what her life had been. For a moment his 
 
 65
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 eyes glistened wet against the cat's indolent 
 contentment. 
 
 "I wish she hadn't saved any money, the 
 poor little thing," he muttered. "No friends, no 
 sympathy ' nothing but that avaricious piece 
 of humanity, calculating every day, probably, 
 on how soon she would get it all. I '11 paint her 
 as a harpy. That's what I'll do. Talons of 
 steel! That's all she needs." He heard a sound 
 and dashed a hand across his eyes. 
 
 Eliza, heavy of heart, stony of face, entered, 
 a number of pictures bound together, in her 
 hands. The visitor darted forward to relieve 
 her, and Pluto drove claws into his suddenly 
 unsteady resting-place. 
 
 Eliza yielded up her treasures like victims, 
 and stood motionless while Phil received them. 
 Never had she looked so gaunt and grey and 
 old; but the visitor did not give her a glance. 
 Aunt Mary's letter was beating against his 
 heart. Here was the work her longing hands 
 had wrought, here the thwarting of her hopes. 
 
 His fingers were not quite steady as he untied 
 the strings, and moving the easel into a good 
 light placed a canvas upon it. 
 
 Eliza did not wish to look at him, but she 
 could not help it. Her pale gaze fixed on 
 
 66
 
 Philip Sidney 
 
 his face in a torture of expectation, as he 
 backed away from the easel, his eyes on the 
 picture. 
 
 Pluto rubbed against his ear as a hint that 
 caressing be renewed. 
 
 He stood in silence, and Eliza could detect 
 nothing like a smile on his face. 
 
 Presently he removed the canvas, and took 
 up another. It was the portrait of Pluto. 
 
 "Hello, Katze. Got your picture took, did 
 you ? Aunt Mary saw your green shadows all 
 right." 
 
 He set the canvas aside, and took up another. 
 Eliza's muscles ached with tension. Her bony 
 hands clasped as she recognized the picture. 
 To the kittens over the table in the kitchen she 
 had once confided that this landscape, which 
 the artist had called "Autumn," looked to her 
 eyes like nothing on earth but a prairie fire! 
 It had been a terrible moment of heresy. She 
 was punished for it now. 
 
 Phil backed away from the canvas, and elbow 
 in his hand, rested his finger on his lips for 
 what seemed to Eliza an age. Her heart 
 thumped, but she could not remove her gaze 
 from him. 
 
 Pluto, finding squirming and rubbing of no
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 avail, leaped to the floor and blinked reflec- 
 tively at his mistress. A flagpole would have 
 offered equal facilities for cuddling. 
 
 He therefore made deliberate selection of the 
 least unsatisfactory chair, and with noiseless 
 grace took possession. 
 
 Phil nodded. "Yes, sir," he murmured; "yes, 
 
 sir." 
 
 Eliza's teeth bit tighter on her suffering under 
 lip. What did "Yes, sir" mean? At least he 
 was not smiling. 
 
 He went on, slightly nodding, and thinking 
 aloud ; "Aunt Mary was ahead of her time. She 
 knew what she was after." 
 
 Eliza tried to speak, and could n't. Some- 
 thing clicked in her throat. 
 
 Phil went on regarding the autumnal tangle, 
 and with a superhuman effort Eliza commanded 
 her tongue. 
 
 "What was that you said, Mr. Sidney?" 
 
 Phil, again becoming- conscious of the stony 
 presence, smiled a little. 
 
 "Aunt Mary would have found sympathizers 
 in Munich," he said. 
 
 "That's Germany, ain't it?" said Eliza, 
 words and breath interlocking. 
 
 "Yes. Most of Uncle Sam's relatives want to 
 68
 
 Philip Sidney 
 
 see plainer what's doing; at least those who are 
 able to buy pictures." 
 
 "Ahead of her time ! " gasped Eliza, her blood 
 racing through her veins. "Ought to 'a' been 
 in Germany 1" 
 
 And then the most amazing occurrence of 
 Philip Sidney's life took place. There was a 
 rush toward him, and suddenly his Medusa, 
 his witch, his miser, his harpy was on her knees 
 on the floor beside him, covering his hand with 
 tears and kisses, and pouring out a torrent of 
 words. 
 
 "I've nearly died with dread of you, Mr. 
 Sidney. Oh, why is n't she here to hear you say 
 those words of her pictures ! Nobody was ever 
 kind to her. Her relations paid no more atten- 
 tion to her, or her work, than if she'd been a 
 a I don't know what. She was poor, and too 
 modest, and the best and sweetest creature on 
 earth; and when your sketches came she ad- 
 mired 'em so that I began to hate you then. 
 Yes, Mr. Sidney, you was a relative, and goin' 
 to be a success, and the look in her eyes when 
 she saw your work killed me. It killed me!" 
 
 "Do, do get up," said Philip, trying to raise 
 her. "Don't weep so, Eliza. I understand." 
 
 But the torrent could not yet be stemmed. 
 
 69
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "I've looked forward to your comin' like to 
 an operation. I've thought you might laugh at 
 her pictures, 'cause young folks are so cruel, 
 and they don't know! Let me cry, Mr. Sidney. 
 Don't mind ! You 've given me the first happy 
 moment I Ve known since she left me. I was the 
 only one she had, even to go to picture galleries 
 with her, and my bones ached 'cause I was a 
 stupid thing, and she had wings just like a little 
 spirit o' light." 
 
 Philip's lashes were moist again. 
 
 " I wish I had been here to go with her," he 
 said. 
 
 Eliza lifted her streaming eyes. "Would you 
 'a* gone?" she asked, and allowed Phil to raise 
 her gently to her feet. 
 
 "Indeed, I would," he answered gravely, 
 "and we should have lived together, and 
 worked together." 
 
 "Oh, why couldn't it 'a' been! Why 
 could n't it 'a' been! What it would 'a' meant 
 to her to have heard what you said just now 
 about her pictures ! " 
 
 Phil's hands were holding Eliza's thin shoul- 
 ders, and her famished eyes were drinking in the 
 comfort of him. 
 
 "I have an idea that we ought not to believe 
 70
 
 Philip Sidney 
 
 that we could make her happier than she is," he 
 said, with the same gravity. 
 
 "I know," faltered Eliza, surprised; "of 
 course that's the way I ought to feel; but there 
 was n't ever anything she cared much about 
 except paintin'. She" Eliza swallowed the 
 tremulous sob that was the aftermath of the 
 storm " she loved music, but she was n't a 
 performer." 
 
 Phil smiled into the appealing face. 
 
 "Then she's painting, for all we know," he 
 said. "Do you believe music is all that goes on 
 there?" 
 
 "It's all that's mentioned," said Eliza 
 apologetically. 
 
 " I have an idea that dying does n't change 
 us any," said the young man. "Why should 
 It?" 
 
 "It did n't need to change her," agreed the 
 other, her voice breaking. 
 
 "I believe that in the end we get what we 
 want." 
 
 "That's comfortin'." 
 
 "Not so you'd notice it," returned Phil with 
 conviction. "It makes the chills run down my 
 spine occasionally when I stop to realize it." 
 
 "What do you mean ? " 
 
 71
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Only that we had better examine what 
 we're wanting; and choose something that 
 won't go back on us. Aunt Mary did; and I 
 believe she had a strong faith." 
 
 "We never talked religion," said Eliza. 
 
 "Just lived it. That's better." 
 
 "I did n't," returned Eliza,'a spark of the old 
 belligerency flashing in her faded eyes. " I can't 
 think of one single enemy that I love!" 
 
 "You were everything to Aunt Mary. Do 
 you suppose I shall ever forget that?" 
 
 " I sat down in front o' those pictures in the 
 Metropolitan Museum," said Eliza, her lips 
 trembling again. "It's awful big, and I got so 
 tuckered, the pictures sort o' ran together till 
 I did n't know a landscape from a portrait. 
 Then I used to take on over somethin' that had 
 a seat in front of it, and she 'd leave me sittin* 
 there starin'. Oh, Mr. Sidney, I can't think o' 
 one other mean thing I ever did to her," re- 
 morseful grief shook the speaker's voice, 
 "but I'd ought to 'a' stood up to the end. It 
 would 'a' showed more interest!" 
 
 Phil squeezed the spare shoulders as they 
 heaved. He laughed a little. 
 
 "Now, Eliza, whatever way you managed it, 
 I know you made her happy." 
 
 72
 
 Philip Sidney 
 
 "Yes," groaned the repentant one, "she said 
 my artistic soul was wakin' up. Do you s'pose 
 where she is now she knows it was black 
 deceit?" 
 
 "She knows nothing black where she is," 
 Phil's voice rang with decision; "but she does 
 know more than ever about love and sacrifice 
 such as you have shown her. Beside," in a 
 lighter tone, "how about your artistic soul ? See 
 how far above everybody else you understood 
 her pictures." 
 
 Eliza's hungry gaze became suddenly in- 
 scrutable. "Mr. Sidney," she began, after a 
 pause, "I loved every stroke her dear hand 
 made, but" again pain crept into the break- 
 ing voice "you said yourself America was n't 
 worthy of her, and I'm only what you might 
 call the scum of America when it comes to 
 insight and and expression and and at- 
 mosphere. Usually I had sense enough to wait 
 till she told me what a thing was before I talked 
 about it; but one day, I can't ever forget it, I 
 praised a flock o' sheep at the back of a field 
 she was doin' and she said they was was 
 cows!" 
 
 Sobs rent the speaker and she covered her 
 eyes. 
 
 73
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "I told her 'twas my glasses," she went 
 on when she could speak. "I told her they 
 had n't been right for a long time. She 
 laughed and tried to make a joke of it, 
 but " 
 
 Eliza's voice was drowned in the flood. 
 
 Phil patted her shoulders and smiled across 
 the bowed head at the forlorn mantelpiece, 
 where the sketches, unconscious of forgiveness, 
 still turned faces toward the wall. 
 
 "You've grown awfully morbid, alone here," 
 he said, giving her a little shake. "You should 
 be only thankful, as I am, that Aunt Mary had 
 you and that you were here to take care of her 
 to the end. Come and sit down. She wrote me a 
 wonderful letter. I have it in my pocket and 
 I'll show it to you." 
 
 Eliza obediently yielded herself to be guided 
 to a chair. Pluto had selected the best with un- 
 erring instinct; and suddenly into his feline 
 dreams an earthquake intruded as Phil tossed 
 him lightly to the floor. 
 
 Drawing his chair close to Eliza, who had 
 wilted back against the faded cretonne roses, 
 the young man drew from his pocket an envel- 
 ope and took out of it a letter, and a small card 
 photograph. 
 
 74-
 
 Philip Sidney 
 
 "Mother gave me this old picture of Aunt 
 Mary" 
 
 Eliza pulled herself up and took it eagerly. 
 " I must get my glasses," she said. " I Ve cried 
 myself nearly blind." 
 
 Phil's big hand pushed her back. 
 
 "I'll get them," he returned. "Where are 
 they?" 
 
 "There, on the end o' the mantelpiece. I had 
 'em, readin' an advertisement." 
 
 She leaned back again and watched him as he 
 crossed the room; watched him with wonder. 
 In years she had not so given her confidence to a 
 human being. 
 
 She put on the spectacles and wistfully re- 
 garded the picture of a pretty woman whose 
 heavy braids, wound around her head, caught 
 the light. Her plain dress was white and she 
 wore black velvet bands on her wrists. 
 
 "Aunt Mary was considered different by her 
 friends, mother says. In a time of frills she 
 liked plain things." 
 
 "I guess she was different," agreed Eliza 
 devoutly. "Would you think a man who mar- 
 ried her would like whiskey better?" 
 
 Phil shook his head. "Sorry," he said, 
 laconically.
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "One good thing, he drank himself to death 
 quick and left her free." 
 
 Phil held out the letter. 
 
 "Read it to me, please, Mr. Sidney." 
 
 "Can't do it," returned the young man with 
 cheerful frankness. "It makes my nose tingle 
 every time." 
 
 So Eliza read the letter in silence. It took her 
 some minutes and when she had finished, her lip 
 caught between her teeth, she took off her 
 glasses and wiped them while she regarded Phil. 
 
 "And you've got to live up to that," she 
 said. 
 
 "I'm going to try," he answered simply. 
 
 Eliza gazed at him, her hands in her lap. She 
 felt old beside his youth, weak beside his 
 strength, ignorant beside that knowledge which 
 had stirred her mistress to exaltation. Never- 
 theless, the humble love, and desire to help him 
 that swelled her heart was a new desire to live, a 
 consecration. 
 
 Presently he took his leave, promising to 
 return in a few days for his belongings. 
 
 After the door had closed behind him, she 
 looked down at the cat, who had awakened 
 from another nap at the stir of the departure. 
 
 He rubbed against her brown calico skirt as
 
 Philip Sidney 
 
 she lighted the gas; then she moved thought- 
 fully to the mantelpiece and turned the 
 sketches about.' 
 
 "Mary Sidney," she mused, looking at the 
 graceful head of Phil's mother, "you've had 
 your heartache, and your sacrifices. You've 
 been most pulled in two, between longin' to 
 stay with your husband and follow your son 
 you told me somethin' of it in your note 
 thankin' for the brooch. Nobody escapes, 
 Mary Sidney. I guess I have n't done you 
 justice, seem' you Ve raised a boy like that." 
 
 Turning to the sketch of the storm-beaten 
 tree, she clasped her hands before it. "Dear 
 one," she mused tenderly, "you loved him. 
 You was great. You died not knowin' how 
 great you were; and you won't care if I do 
 understand this kind better, 'cause all America's 
 too ignorant for you, and I 'm one o' the worst." 
 
 Her eyes dwelt lingeringly on the sketch. She 
 fancied she could hear the wind whistling 
 through the writhing branches. "It looks like 
 my life," she thought, " risin' out o' the mist 
 and the cloud." 
 
 She gazed at it in silence, then turned to the 
 destroyed photograph. She seized the pieces 
 quickly and turned them face up. The rent had 
 
 77
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 missed the chin and cut across the collar. She 
 regarded the face wistfully. The cat stretched 
 his forepaws up her skirt until he was of a pre- 
 ternatural length. It was supper-time. 
 
 "I wonder, Pluto," she said slowly, "if I 
 could n't fit that into a minicher frame. Some 
 of 'em come real reasonable."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 ELIZA'S INVITATION 
 
 FOR the first time since she had been left alone, 
 Eliza drank her tea that night without tears; 
 and no lump in her throat prevented her 
 swallowing the egg she had boiled. 
 
 She held Mrs. Ballard's watch in her hand a 
 minute before getting into bed; and looked long 
 at its gold face, and listened to its loud and busy 
 ticking. 
 
 "Forgive me, Mrs. Ballard," she thought; 
 and association added, "as we forgive our 
 debtors!" 
 
 "No, I can't!" she muttered fiercely. "I 
 can't! What's the use o' pretendin'!" 
 
 Muffling the watch in its slipper, she turned 
 out the gas and got into bed. Composing her- 
 self to sleep more peacefully than she had been 
 able to do for many a night, her last thought 
 was of Mrs. Ballard's heir; and a sense of com- 
 fort stole over her in the very fact of his exist- 
 ence. Again she seemed to feel the sympathetic 
 pressure of his kind hand. 
 
 79
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "He thinks she may be paintin' still," she 
 reflected. " She's got colors to work with that's 
 most blindin', they're so gorgeous, if we can 
 judge anything by the sunsets at the island. 
 Why not think so! It's just as reasonable as 
 playin' harps, for all I can see." 
 
 Ever since her dear one's passing, Eliza had 
 felt too crushed and too wicked to pray; and 
 being unable to say the whole of her Lord's 
 Prayer, her New England conscience would not 
 allow her to say any of it; but to-night a sense 
 of hope and gratitude lightened the darkness, 
 and a new gentleness crept over her counte- 
 nance as it relaxed its lines in slumber. 
 ; She wakened next morning without the load 
 of despair on her heart; and slowly realized 
 what had changed her outlook. She even 
 smiled at the cat, who had leaped up on the foot 
 of her bed. He understood that he might come 
 no nearer. 
 
 "Every single mornin', Pluto, I've been 
 dreadin' that the day had come I 'd got to show 
 her pictures to him. Well, that's over." 
 
 "Meow!" remarked Pluto, commenting on 
 the selfishness of beings who overslept. 
 
 "Yes, I know what you want." Eliza turned 
 her head wearily on the pillow. "'Weak as a 
 
 80
 
 Eliza's Invitation 
 
 cat'! I don't think much o' that expression. I 
 notice you're strong enough to get everything 
 you want. Oh, dear, I wonder if I '11 ever feel 
 like myself again ! " 
 
 The cat jumped to the floor, and coming to 
 the head of the bed sat down and regarded the 
 haggard face reproachfully. 
 
 "You're just as handsome as a picture, 
 Pluto," mused Eliza aloud. "I don't know 
 as it's ever made you any worse 'n common 
 cats." 
 
 This optimistic change of heart lightened the 
 atmosphere of the cheerless kitchen that morn- 
 ing; and Eliza drew up the shade, which let the 
 sun slant in past a neighboring roof for a short 
 half-hour. 
 
 A beam struck the kittens frisking above the 
 kitchen table, and they seemed to spring from 
 the shadowy gloom of their corner, flinging their 
 little paws about with the infantine glee which 
 had first captivated their owner. 
 
 "Oh, yes, you can dance, still," she mur- 
 mured, addressing them reproachfully; but she 
 left the shade up. 
 
 It was nearly noon when her doorbell rang 
 again. Eliza hastened to the glass. She had on 
 her black alpaca to-day. Sweeping-cap and 
 
 81
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 apron were remanded to their corner, and she 
 made certain that her hair was smooth, then 
 went to the speaking-tube. 
 
 "Yes?" she said, and listened for the possible 
 voice of yesterday; but a woman's tones put the 
 question : 
 
 "Is this Mrs. Ballard's apartment?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Eliza briefly. 
 
 "Is this Eliza Brewster?" again asked the 
 sweet voice. 
 
 "It is," came the non-committal admission. 
 
 "May I come up, Eliza ? It's Mrs Wright." 
 
 "Mrs. who?" 
 
 "Mrs. Wright. Don't you remember my 
 spending the day with Mrs. Ballard last spring, 
 just before I went to Brewster's Island?" 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Wright!" exclaimed Eliza in a 
 different tone. "Excuse me for keepin' you 
 waitin'. Come right up." 
 
 Well Eliza recalled the enjoyment of her dear 
 one in that visit of an old friend, rarely seen. 
 Mrs. Ballard's social pleasures were so few, this 
 day gleamed as a bright spot in memory; and, 
 not content with opening wide the door, Eliza 
 went out to the head of the stairs to receive the 
 mounting figure. 
 
 "She stood here the last time," she said 
 82
 
 Eliza's Invitation 
 
 brokenly, as the visitor reached her and held 
 out both hands to receive Eliza's. 
 
 The newcomer's silver-white hair made an 
 aureole about the face that looked with kindly 
 eyes into the other's dim ones. 
 
 " I was just thinking of that as I saw you 
 waiting," she said. "It was a shock to me to 
 learn that Mrs. Ballard had left us. Was it very 
 sudden, Eliza ? " 
 
 The latter could not trust herself to speak. 
 She nodded and ushered Mrs. Wright into the 
 living-room, where they both sat down, the 
 visitor's heart touched by the mourner's altered 
 countenance, and the evident struggle she was 
 making not to give way. Her compassion 
 showed in her gentle face and Eliza made a brave 
 effort to smile. 
 
 "I know I'm a sight, Mrs. Wright," she fal- 
 tered. "I've never been any hand to cry, but 
 I 've nearly washed the eyes out o' my head the 
 past week. I don't expect anybody to know what 
 I've lost." Her lips twitched and she bit them 
 hard. 
 
 "I can very well imagine," returned the 
 other, "for Mrs. Ballard spoke so warmly 
 of you to me, and told me how many 
 years your fortunes had been cast together. 
 
 83
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 She said you were the mainspring of the 
 house." 
 
 .< "Thank you, Mrs. Wright," said Eliza hum- 
 bly. "Yes, I saw that she ate and slept right. 
 Her interests were where I could n't follow 
 'cause I did n't know enough ; but she was the 
 mainspring o' my life. It's broken, broken. I 
 have n't got the energy to lift a finger, nor a 
 thing to live for. Honestly, Mrs. Wright," 
 added Eliza in a burst of despair, " if 't wa'n't 
 for the commonness of a Brews ter bein' found 
 so disrespectable as dead in a New York flat, 
 and strange folks layin' their hands on me, I 
 would n't 'a' lived through some o' the nights 
 I 've had since she went away. I 'd lay there 
 and try to think o' one single person it'd 
 make any difference to, and there ain't one." 
 
 "My dear," returned Mrs. Wright, regarding 
 the haggard face, " how about your relatives on 
 the island?" 
 
 Eliza shook her head. "The only folks o' 
 mine that are left are '-in-laws,' or else cousins 
 I Ve scarcely heard from for twenty-five years. 
 They have n't troubled themselves about me, 
 and if I 'd 'a' walked out that way, they'd 
 only ' a ' said I 'd ought to be ashamed o' my- 
 self." 
 
 84
 
 Eliza's Invitation 
 
 "And so you ought," said Mrs. Wright with 
 her gentle smile. 
 
 "Well, I did n't anyway, " said Eliza wearily. 
 "Did you stay at the island all summer?" 
 r "Yes, and I 'm still there. May I take off my 
 coat, Eliza?" 
 
 The hostess started up with sudden recol- 
 lection. 
 
 "I hope you'll excuse me, Mrs. Wright; if I 
 ever had any manners they're gone." 
 
 Slipping off the coat, and relinquishing it into 
 Eliza's hands, the visitor went on talking. "My 
 husband gave up business a couple of years ago. 
 Perhaps Mrs. Ballard has told you that he was 
 never a successful business man." Mrs. Wright 
 stifled a sigh under a bright smile. "Nobody 
 can be well and idle long, you know, so the next 
 thing he began to be ailing, the dear man, and 
 he thought the sea would do him good ; and, my 
 dear Eliza, it has done him so much good that 
 we have become islanders." 
 
 "You don't mean you're going to stay 
 there?" 
 
 The visitor nodded the silvery aureole of her 
 hair. 
 
 "That is what I mean. Mr. Wright went 
 fishing all summer and he thinks he has found 
 
 85
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 his niche in life. He has not been so well and 
 happy in years." 
 
 "You'll stay all winter?" asked Eliza 
 incredulously. 
 
 "Yes," the visitor smiled again, "and all the 
 winters, so far as I know. Mr. Wright is per- 
 fectly content." 
 
 "How about you?" asked Eliza briefly. She 
 had gone back to her chair and frowned uncon- 
 sciously into the peaceful face regarding her. 
 
 "Oh!" Mrs. Wright raised her eyebrows and 
 gave her head a slight shake. " ' In my father's 
 house are many mansions ! ' I like to feel that it 
 is all His house, even now, and that wherever 
 I may live He is there, so why should I be 
 lonely?" 
 
 Listening to these words, it seemed to Eliza 
 as if some lamp, kept burning on the altar of 
 this woman's soul, sent its steady light into the 
 peaceful eyes regarding her. 
 
 "It's a good thing you can get comfort that 
 way," she responded, rather awkwardly. "I 
 know it must 'a' been a struggle to consent to it 
 any one used to a big city like Boston. What 
 does your niece say to it?" 
 
 "Violet was with me a while. I am visiting 
 her here now." 
 
 86
 
 Eliza's Invitation 
 
 "She teaches, don't she? the languages, or 
 something?" inquired Eliza vaguely. 
 
 "No, gymnastic dancing and other branches 
 of physical culture. She works hard, and no 
 place ever rested her like the island, she 
 thought. Do you remember Jane Foster?" 
 
 The corners of Eliza's mouth drew down in a 
 smiling grimace of recollection. 
 
 "Do I remember Jennie Foster!" she said. 
 "We grew up together." 
 
 "Well, she keeps a boarding-house in Port- 
 land now in winters and comes to the old 
 home, summers. We boarded with her, and 
 now, instead of closing up the place, she has 
 rented it to me." 
 
 Eliza shook her head. "Pretty high up," she 
 commented. "Some o' those February gales 
 will pretty near shave you off the hill." 
 
 "A good many husky generations have been 
 brought up and gone forth into the world out 
 of that house," said Mrs. Wright cheerfully. 
 "There are some trees, you know. Do you 
 remember the apple orchard?" 
 
 " Huh ! " commented Eliza. " I know how the 
 scrawny little things look when they're bare! 
 A lot o' shelter they'll be." 
 
 Mrs. Wright dropped her head a little to one
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 side and her kind grey eyes rested on Eliza's 
 grief-scarred face. "I'm glad I came to see 
 you," she said irrelevantly. 
 
 " I 'm a kind of a Job's comforter, I 'm afraid. 
 JVhen I Ve thought of anything the past fort- 
 night I Ve thought about Brewster's Island, 
 a sort of a counter-irritant, I guess." 
 
 "No, no, we can't have that. You must n't 
 call the Blessed Isle by such a name." 
 
 "Perhaps it won't be such a Blessed Isle 
 after you've spent a winter there," remarked 
 Eliza drily. 
 
 Mrs. Wright smiled. "I know it was your 
 native place, and I hoped you might have 
 pleasant associations with it." 
 i Eliza sighed wearily. "Yes, if I could be 
 twelve years old again, and go coastin' and 
 skatin', and when it was dark tumble into bed 
 under the eaves with a hot bag o' sand to keep 
 the sheets from freezin' me, I should like it, I 
 s'pose. I used to; but nobody on that snow- 
 covered hill cares whether I'm alive or dead, 
 and that cruel black ocean that swallowed up 
 my father one night, and killed my mother, 
 that roarin' around the island in the freezin' gale 
 is the only thing I can see and hear when I 
 think of the winter." 
 
 88
 
 Eliza's Invitation 
 
 "Then you have been thinking of going back 
 to the island?" 
 
 "Well, it's either that or goin' into some- 
 body's kitchen, here." Eliza's mouth twitched 
 grimly. "Mrs. Fabian offered me a recommen- 
 dation." 
 
 "Oh, yes. The Fabians were very kind to 
 Violet this summer." 
 
 "You don't say so! I'm glad they can be 
 kind to somebody." 
 
 The bitterness of Eliza's tone impressed her 
 visitor. "Mrs. Ballard was Mrs. Fabian's aunt, 
 I believe," she ventured. 
 i "I believe so, too," said Eliza, " but nothing 
 she ever did proved it." 
 
 Mrs. Wright veered away from dangerous 
 ground. "I have been thinking of you a great 
 deal since I learned of Mrs. Ballard's going, 
 and I wanted at least to see you before I went 
 back." There was a little pause, then she 
 added: "It occurred to me that you might be 
 going home to the island " 
 
 "I haven't any home there," interrupted 
 Eliza stoically. 
 
 " and I was going to ask you, in that case, 
 If you would n't eat your Thanksgiving dinner 
 with me."
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Eliza looked at her visitor, startled. 
 
 "Think of me," she said slowly, "eatin' a 
 Thanksgivin' dinner anywhere." 
 
 Mrs. Wright felt a pang at her heart under 
 the desolation of the voice. It seemed the voice 
 of the forlorn room in which they sat. She rose 
 to hide the look in her eyes, and moving to the 
 mantel took up the sketches that stood there. 
 
 "Are these interesting things Mrs. Ballard's 
 work?" she asked. 
 
 Eliza was clutching the meagre arms of her 
 chair until her knuckles whitened. How fate 
 was softening toward her! The thought that 
 this friend of her lost one would have her own 
 hearth on the dreaded island warmed the winter 
 prospect. A link with Mrs. Ballard. A friend 
 with whom she might talk of her. The rift made 
 yesterday in her submerging clouds widened. 
 
 "Mrs. Wright," she said, unheeding the 
 visitor's question, "you're religious, I know, 
 'cause you quoted the Bible, and 'cause you 
 take cheerfully bein' buried in a snowdrift on 
 Brewster's Island instead of havin' the things 
 you're accustomed to. So I want you to know 
 before you invite me to have Thanksgivin' 
 dinner with you that I 'm the wickedest woman 
 in New York. I have n't said a prayer since 
 
 90
 
 Eliza's Invitation 
 
 Mrs. Ballard died. I hate Mrs. Fabian for her 
 neglect of her, and I did hate the young man 
 Mrs. Ballard left her little bit o' money to." 
 
 Mrs. Wright, holding the sketch of Mary 
 Sidney, turned and looked at the speaker. 
 
 "Hated him 'cause he was an artist, and I 
 did n't believe he'd appreciate her work, but 
 just spend her savings careless. That's his mo- 
 ther you 've got in your hand, and that 's 
 him, layin' on the mantelpiece torn across the 
 middle." 
 
 Eliza's aspect as she talked was wild. Mrs. 
 Wright picked up the torn pieces and fitted 
 them together. In fancy she saw Eliza rending 
 the card. She felt that she understood all; the 
 heart-break, the starvation fare of tea, tears, 
 and misery, and the blank future. 
 
 "His name's Philip Sidney, and his mother 
 was Mrs. Ballard's niece and namesake. Yes- 
 terday he came. He was altogether different 
 from what I expected. He took a load off o' my 
 mind and heart. I don't begrudge him any- 
 thing." 
 
 " You 're sorry, then, that you tore this 
 handsome picture." 
 
 "Oh, I didn't 'cause Mrs. Ballard set 
 such store by it. I only turned it to the wall. 
 
 91
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 T was he tore it. He said it was too pretty 
 or something. He does look different. The 
 picture's kind o' dreamin' lookin' and he's so 
 awake he well, he sparkles." 
 
 Mrs. Wright smiled at the haggard speaker. 
 
 "I'm so glad you like him. Has he come to 
 New York to study?" 
 
 "Yes; he had to be a mining engineer when 
 he wanted to paint. So now he's goin' to study 
 with Mrs. Ballard's money." 
 
 "Why I remember," said Mrs. Wright, 
 thoughtfully regarding the sketches. "Mrs. 
 Ballard told me about him in the spring." She 
 looked up again at her hostess. "You've been 
 through a great deal, Eliza," she said, "and 
 you've tried to go alone." 
 
 "I had to go alone," returned Eliza fiercely; 
 "but I can be honest if I am lonely and I won't 
 sit down at your table without your knowin' 
 that I'm a sinner. Don't talk religion to me 
 either," she added, " 'cause I ain't the kind it 
 would do any good to." 
 
 Mrs. Wright came back to her chair and her 
 eyes were thoughtful. 
 
 "I have a better idea still," she said. "For 
 how long have you this apartment?" 
 
 " One week more." 
 
 92
 
 Eliza's Invitation 
 
 "Oh, only a week. Then, supposing you 
 come and live with me this winter." 
 
 Eliza leaned back in her chair, speechless. 
 The grey wall of the future slowly dissolved. 
 The possibility of friendship of a home 
 was actually unnerving in its contrast to all she 
 had steeled herself to endure. 
 
 "Come and help me, Eliza," went on the 
 gentle voice. " Show me how to meet an island 
 winter. I believe between us we can make a 
 cosy sort of season of it." 
 
 "Cosy!" echoed Eliza's dry lips. 
 
 "Yes. There by the gnarled little apple trees, 
 handicapped by winter winds, and the forlorn 
 little chicken-house that stands near the or- 
 chard. Do you remember that?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Eliza mechanically. 
 "T wa'n't always a chicken-house. Polly 
 Ann Foster built it 'cause she quarrelled with 
 her son and would n't live with him. I was 
 a little girl and we were all scared of her. 
 When she died they began using it for the 
 hens." 
 
 "Well, it's empty and forlorn now. Miss 
 Foster can't keep chickens and go back to Port- 
 land every fall. That's our only near neighbor, 
 you remember." 
 
 93
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "I remember. Why should you be such an 
 angel to me?" burst forth Eliza. 
 
 "Is that being an angel? Why, I'm so glad. 
 You know I might be a little bit lonely at the 
 island. Mr. Wright is pretty sleepy in the 
 evening and the house rambles. We '11 shut up 
 part of it, Eliza, won't we?" 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Wright!" exclaimed the lonely 
 woman, every trace of her fierceness gone. 
 "What a godsend you're givin' me." 
 
 "Then it's settled; and Violet will be so glad. 
 She is n't quite pleased with our plan for the 
 winter."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 BROTHER AND SISTER 
 
 KATHLEEN FABIAN sat at her desk, deeply en- 
 grossed in the theme she was writing, when 
 her brother's name was brought to her. 
 
 The expression of her face as she took the 
 card did not indicate that the surprise was 
 wholly joyous. She frowned and bit her lip, and 
 an anxious look grew in her eyes as she went out 
 into the hall to meet the visitor, who advanced 
 with bounds, and grasped her in one arm, giv- 
 ing her cheek a brotherly peck. 
 
 "What has happened, Edgar?" she asked as 
 he led her back into her room. 
 
 "I've come to see you, that's all," was the 
 rejoinder. 
 
 Edgar Fabian was an airy youth, carefully 
 arrayed in the height of fashion. His fair hair 
 was brushed until it reflected the light, and 
 his jaunty assurance was wont to carry all be- 
 fore it. 
 
 "Is anything wrong at home?" insisted his 
 sister. 
 
 95
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 They were now inside the room and the 
 young man closed the door. 
 
 "Well, I have n't any money," said Kathleen 
 bluntly, "at least, not for you!" 
 
 Edgar was but little taller than she, and, as 
 she looked at him now, her serious slender face 
 opposed to his boyish one, her peculiar slow 
 speech, in which her teeth scarcely closed, 
 sounding lazy beside his crispness, she seemed 
 the elder of the two. 
 
 "This leaping at conclusions is too feminine a 
 weakness for you to indulge in, Kath," was the 
 rejoinder as the visitor slid out of a silk-lined 
 overcoat; but he rested his gaze upon his sister's 
 dark hair rather than the eyes beneath. " I like 
 your hospitality," he added. "I hope it isn't 
 presumption for me to remove my coat. Try to 
 control your joy when your brother comes up 
 from New York to see you." 
 
 "Of course I should always be glad to see you 
 if if you 'd let me," was the reply. 
 
 "What's to prevent?" inquired the visitor 
 cheerfully. 
 
 "My diary," was the laconic response. 
 
 "Oh, you make me tired," said Edgar, taking 
 out a cigarette-case. "May I?" 
 
 96
 
 Brother and Sister 
 
 "No," returned Kathleen, speaking with her 
 characteristic deliberation. 
 
 "You may have one, too"; he offered his 
 case, still standing, since she did not sit. He 
 smiled as he said it; the evenness of his teeth 
 and the glee of his smile had melted much ice 
 before now. 
 
 "No, thanks," she answered coldly. 
 
 He gave an exclamation. 
 
 "Oh, your grave and reverend senior airs 
 won't go down with me, you know." He 
 sniffed suspiciously. " Some one has been hav- 
 ing a whiff here this morning." 
 
 "It was n't I." 
 
 "Well, it was somebody; and some one more 
 critical than I is liable to drop in here and notice 
 it. Just to save you trouble, I'll light up. Bet- 
 ter take one. It's your golden opportunity." 
 
 Again he offered the case, and now Kathleen 
 took a cigarette mechanically. She still ques- 
 tioned her brother's debonair countenance. 
 
 "Well," he said impatiently, after a moment 
 of silence, "are we going to stand here until 
 dinner-time like two tenpins?" 
 
 "Are you going to stay until dinner-time?" 
 
 "Why," with another effort at gayety, "if 
 you go on like this and positively won't take no 
 
 97
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 for an answer, perhaps I shall be obliged to. 
 Say, Kath, what's the matter with you? You 
 used to be a good fellow. College has ruined 
 you. I did n't treat you like this when you came 
 to see me." 
 
 "Forgive me, Edgar," Kathleen's drawl be- 
 came very nearly an exclamation. "I was 
 thinking so hard." 
 
 She dropped into a chair and he lighted his 
 cigarette, and bending forward allowed her to 
 draw the flame into her own. 
 
 "Now, this is something like it," remarked 
 the young man, sinking upon a leather-covered 
 divan. He picked up a guitar that lay at its 
 head, and strummed lightly upon it. "Think of 
 your giving house-room to anything so light- 
 minded as a guitar!" he added, his disapproving 
 eyes roving about the entire apartment. "This 
 room looks more like a hermit's cell every time 
 I come." 
 
 "No," rejoined Kathleen, with her soft lazi- 
 ness of speech, and blowing a ring of smoke 
 upon the air, " it is only that you have time to 
 forget between your visits." 
 
 Edgar removed his cigarette and began to 
 murmur "The Owl and the Pussy Cat," in a 
 tenor voice calculated to pour oil on troubled
 
 Brother and Sister 
 
 waters, while he struck the accompanying 
 chords with a sure touch. 
 
 "They took some honey, and plenty of money, 
 Wrapped up in a five-pound note!" 
 
 he sang. "Think of it!" he groaned, pausing to 
 save the life of his cigarette; " plenty of money! 
 Who would n't be an owl or a pussy-cat!" 
 
 Kathleen's eyes narrowed. 
 
 "You speak of the rarity of my visits," he 
 went on. "I suppose you think it is nothing to 
 take a few hours out of a business day to run up 
 here." 
 
 Kathleen smiled. "On the contrary, I think 
 it so much of a thing that it always startles me 
 to get your card on a week day, and you seem to 
 have other uses for your Sundays." 
 
 "Very well," returned her brother, strum- 
 ming the guitar with conscious rectitude; 
 "know then that the Administration sent me 
 up here to-day on business." 
 
 "With me?" 
 
 "No" (singing) 
 
 'Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will 
 pledge'" 
 
 "Edgar!" protested the girl lazily, "it's too 
 early in the day for that." 
 
 "Hello, grave and reverend senior," he re- 
 99
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 torted. "I did n't know you were so much of a 
 
 connoisseur." 
 
 The girl's reply had a sad note. 
 
 "I wish you would do something with that 
 voice," she said. 
 
 The singer smiled. He was now smoking 
 again, and strumming the melody of the song. 
 Perhaps he was thinking that he had done a 
 good deal with his voice. 
 
 "I don't know that it has been altogether 
 wasted," he replied. 
 
 "Carrying off the honors as the singing-girl 
 in a college play is n't what I mean." 
 
 "Oh, I'm sure it is n't," scoffed the possessor 
 of the voice. " I 'd take long odds that what you 
 mean involves something that would come 
 under the head of work spelled with a capital 
 W " 
 
 "Think of a man butterfly!" ejaculated Kath- 
 leen, removing her cigarette and her drawl 
 for an unwonted verbal explosion. "Edgar, / 
 should have been the man, and you the girl in 
 our family." 
 
 "I should object," he rejoined calmly, all his 
 attention apparently concentrated on the com- 
 passing of some intricate fingering of the guitar 
 strings. 
 
 ICO
 
 Brother and Sister 
 
 "Think of your rooms at college and this!" 
 went on Kathleen. 
 
 ' "I'd like mighty well to have a squint at the 
 loved and lost to take the taste of this out of my 
 mouth," returned the visitor imperturbably. 
 
 "How is father?" asked Kathleen, relapsing 
 into her usual manner. 
 
 " Smaht," rejoined Edgar. 
 
 At the reminder of Brewster's Island, Kath- 
 leen's eyes smiled, then grew grave. "I can't 
 bear to have you call father the Administra- 
 tion," she said. 
 
 "Why not? you didn't want me to call 
 him Governor." 
 
 "It sounds so so disrespectful." 
 
 "Not to me. I think it suggests salaams." 
 
 "No, Edgar slams; but I don't want to 
 joke." 
 
 "I'm sure of it," interpolated the guitar- 
 playing one. 
 
 "Stop that noise a minute, please." 
 
 He obeyed. 
 
 " I wish you would n't speak of father so 
 coldly." 
 
 "Then it'll be likely to be hotly, and at 
 that you'd make a fuss," returned the youth 
 doggedly. 
 
 101
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "He is a good father," declared the girl, the 
 lingering words coming devoutly. 
 
 "Yes," retorted Edgar drily. "Perhaps, if 
 your little day-dream could come true and you 
 be the son, you would n't think so." 
 
 "I believe it is father's fault largely," said 
 Kathleen. "He began by spoiling you." 
 
 "Then, if I'm spoiled, what's the use of 
 kicking? and if he's done it he must pay for 
 it; but that's just what he won't do pay for 
 it." 
 
 \ The speaker stubbed the light out of his 
 cigarette and tossed it on the table. He rose 
 and walked the floor. 
 
 "He has put you in his office," said Kathleen. 
 "He will give you every chance to rise." 
 
 "Yes, and meanwhile pays me a salary 
 smaller than the allowance he gave me at 
 college." 
 
 "Because," said the girl, "he found that you 
 could n't even keep within that. He knew you 
 must wake up." 
 
 "What occasion?" demanded Edgar, stand- 
 ing still to gesture. " I 'm the only son. Look at 
 the money he has." 
 
 "And has worked for; worked for, Edgar. 
 Can't you understand? Supposing you had 
 
 102
 
 Brother and Sister 
 
 worked like that, and had a son who dipped into 
 the bag with both hands and threw your money 
 away." 
 
 "I don't want to throw it away. I get one 
 hundred cents' worth of fun out of every dollar 
 I spend. What more does he want? I did n't 
 ask to be born, did I ? I did n't ask to have 
 expensive tastes. Why should I have to ride in 
 a taxicab?" 
 
 "You don't. There are the street cars." 
 
 Edgar's blond face turned upon her angrily. 
 "When do you suppose I want a machine? 
 When I'm doddering around with a cane?" 
 
 "Earn it, then." 
 
 "Yes, I can on a petty few hundreds a year!" 
 
 "You drive down with father every morning, 
 don't you?" 
 
 "No, I don't. I have to get there before he 
 does." 
 
 Kathleen laughed. "What an outrage!" 
 
 " I take the car first and then it goes back for 
 him," said Edgar sulkily. 
 
 "Oh, the cruelty of some parents!" drawled 
 Kathleen, knocking the ash from her cigarette. 
 "The idea of Peter going back for father. He 
 should stand in Wall Street awaiting your 
 orders." 
 
 103
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "No, he should n't, but I should have a mo- 
 tor of my own. The Ad. is more old-fashioned 
 than any of the other fathers in our set." 
 The speaker paused and gestured defensively. 
 "You'll get off all that ancient stuff about the 
 new generation wanting to begin where the old 
 left off. Of course we do. Why not? I hope my 
 son will begin where I leave off." 
 
 Kathleen gave her one-sided smile her 
 Mona Lisa smile her admirers called it : 
 
 "Where you leave off is not liable to be a bed 
 of roses if you keep on as you've begun." She 
 looked up at her brother gravely as she tapped 
 the end of her cigarette and dropped it in 
 the ash receiver. "Why don't you use your 
 brains?" she asked. "Can't you see that the 
 more father notices that you have no ambition, 
 the tighter he will draw the rein?" 
 
 "I have plenty of ambition." 
 
 "For work?" 
 
 "Oh, you make me tired!" 
 
 The young man resumed his impatient walk. 
 
 The sister leaned back in her chair, her dark 
 eyes following him, without the hint of a smile. 
 
 "I'd like to see you tired," she said seriously. 
 
 He turned on her. "Ever see me after a polo 
 
 game?" 
 
 104
 
 Brother and Sister 
 
 "But life is n't a game, Edgar." 
 He opened his eyes at her and grimaced 
 scornfully. 
 
 "The grave and reverend senior again; 
 nearly ready to graduate, and inform the world 
 that 
 
 ' Life is real, life is earnest, 
 And the grave is not its goal!' 
 
 Might as well be in the grave at once as dig and 
 grind the days away. Heaven help us when you 
 get home! I suppose you must go through the 
 fine-spun theory stage like the usual attack of 
 measles." 
 
 "Measles are catching," remarked Kathleen 
 quietly. 
 
 "Exactly! but I'm mighty glad I'm immune 
 from the know-it-all disease." 
 
 "That would mean that you'd had it, Edgar, 
 and you never did have it; not even a rash. 
 Open the window, please. We're a little blue in 
 here." 
 
 Edgar threw open the unoffending window 
 with a force that threatened the mechanism. 
 
 "No doubt," he said, "you'd like to have me 
 live, like that cowboy, in a stable, and get my 
 own meals." 
 
 "A garage would suit you better, I suppose," 
 105
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 returned Kathleen. "What are you talking 
 about?" 
 
 "Has n't mother written you of the genius 
 who has come out of the wild and woolly to get 
 his Pegasus curried in New York?" 
 
 "Has mother taken up a genius? Mother, 
 of all people!" 
 
 "Why, she's had him at the house, and in- 
 sists on my being civil to him; but I have n't 
 seen him yet. I get enough of him right at the 
 breakfast and dinner table without hunting up 
 the stable. His ambition is at the bottom of 
 my coffee cup, and his genius for hard work is 
 served as an entree every night." 
 
 "Oh," Kathleen's face gained a ray of 
 interest, "you mean that cousin of ours." 
 
 "He's no cousin," retorted Edgar. "He's 
 one of mother's fifty-seven varieties, a sort of 
 step-neighbor-in-law of ours. When father and 
 mother were out at the mine they met him. I 
 think it was up to him to stay out there and 
 make that mine pay. I think if he'd shown a 
 little genius for hard work right there, it would 
 have been more to the point." 
 "Yes, mother wrote me." Kathleen's tone 
 was tinged with the interest in her eyes. 
 "What is his name, now?" 
 
 106
 
 Brother and Sister 
 
 "Sidney," responded Edgar with open dis- 
 gust. "Oh, I'm authority on his name all 
 right, Philip Sidney; I've had it dinged into 
 my ears faithfully." 
 
 "A name to live up to," remarked the girl. 
 " It was interesting, Aunt Mary leaving him her 
 money." 
 
 " It would have been more interesting if she'd 
 had anything to leave." 
 
 Edgar had thrown himself back on the divan 
 and was watching curtains and smoke draw out 
 the window. 
 
 "Do you remember," continued his sister, 
 "what nice cookies Aunt Mary used to give us 
 when we were little? Mother felt sorry not to 
 be here when she died." 
 
 "Oh, mother's ripping," declared Edgar, his 
 cheerfulness restored by some inspiriting mem- 
 ory. "She's had a hand-to-hand, knock-down- 
 and-drag-out with the old gargoyle that holds 
 the fort over there at Aunt Mary's." 
 
 "What do you mean?" drawled Kathleen 
 with faint disgust. 
 
 "Mother gave a graphic account of the fray 
 at dinner one night. I was n't giving the story 
 my whole attention, but I gathered that she 
 and the doughty Eliza each got hold of one end 
 
 107
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 of Aunt Mary's camel's hair shawl and had a tug 
 of war; and Eliza's cat won the day for her by 
 jumping on mother and nearly clawing her furs 
 off." 
 
 "Edgar," protested Kathleen, "your bump 
 of respect is an intaglio!" 
 
 "Well, I think I've got it about right. There 
 were diamonds mixed up in it too. I believe 
 Eliza wears a diamond tiara at her work so as to 
 keep it away from mother; while the parent of 
 the worshipful Philip came in for a diamond 
 necklace, and mother was left nothing but cold 
 neglect." 
 
 "Absurd!" breathed Kathleen. "Aunt Mary 
 was poor as a church mouse." 
 
 "Well, whatever happened, the fur was rising 
 on the back of mother's neck, and I did n't 
 know but there would be a silver lining to the 
 cloud and she'd cut Philip Sidney; but," with a 
 heavy sigh, "no such luck. The cowboy still 
 gallops his Pegasus over my prostrate body 
 every meal." 
 
 "What do you mean by a stable?" asked 
 Kathleen. 
 
 "Why, Pegasus has to have one, I suppose." 
 
 "Is that all? Are you only being witty?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it. You know the literal truth 
 108
 
 Brother and Sister 
 
 is all I'm ever up to. The genius has a room 
 over a stable, and an oil stove!" 
 
 "Why a stable?" 
 
 "Convenient for Pegasus, I suppose," re- 
 sponded Edgar carelessly. "Beside, doubtless 
 he would feel out of place in any abode more 
 civilized." 
 
 "Edgar Fabian, that 's nonsense. I remember 
 his mother, when she came East years ago, 
 don't you?" 
 
 "They're as poor as Job's turkey," said 
 Edgar with a careless shrug. "That's why he 
 jumped at Aunt Mary's pittance like a trout at 
 any." 
 
 "Oh, Edgar, what an object-lesson for you !" 
 Kathleen clasped her hands. 
 
 "Oh, of course!" ejaculated Edgar, his even 
 teeth very much clenched. 
 
 "You ought to go to see him!" 
 
 "So I've heard," with intense sarcasm. 
 "Mother has bored the life out of me." 
 
 " It is n't civil not to," said Kathleen, re- 
 lapsing into languor. "He's a sort of a rela- 
 tive." 
 
 "Yes. The sort to keep away from. If I went 
 up there, it would be to take his mahl-stick and 
 smash his face." 
 
 109
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Nice, hospitable plan," remarked Kathleen. 
 "Possibly he would n't permit it." 
 
 "Oh, I've no doubt he'd think it was real 
 mean and pick up a fan and slap me on the 
 wrist. Oh, forget him! Say, Kath," as if with 
 sudden remembrance, " do you know I came off 
 without my purse to-day?" 
 
 The girl's eyes gained a curious expression. 
 She was silent a moment, hands clasped around 
 her knee. Under her gaze her brother picked up 
 the guitar again and his nervous fingers swept 
 the strings. 
 
 "I thought you said this was a business trip." 
 
 " It is. Go down and ask them at the bank if 
 I did n't put a bee in their bonnet this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "Then the house pays your expenses. Your 
 purse did n't have to suffer." 
 
 "Oh, well, if you want the literal truth, I'm 
 flat broke." 
 
 "You always are flat broke at this time in the 
 month. Why should n't / be ? as a matter of 
 fact, I am." 
 
 Edgar frowned. "What have you been 
 buying?" 
 
 "A new microscope. I've saved for it, 
 Edgar." 
 
 no
 
 Brother and Sister 
 
 The girl cast a warm glance across the room 
 to where, on a table, stood a tall slender object 
 covered with a cloth. 
 
 "Saved for it!" was the disgusted response. 
 "Shameful idea when the Ad. could just as well 
 buy you an observatory." 
 
 " I don't believe father is nearly as rich as you 
 think he is," said the girl defensively. 
 
 "He's the prize tight-wad. That's what he 
 is. Look at our summers! Is n't it enough that 
 instead of Newport the Fabians rusticate on 
 Brewster's Island?" 
 
 "He met mother there. He loves it." 
 
 "Well, I can tell you, mother would exchange 
 a whole lot of sentiment for one good whirl at 
 Newport or some other place where there are 
 live ones! Say, Kath, be a good fellow. You 
 can spare a dime or so. Ten dollars would be 
 better than nothing. I '11 give it back the first of 
 the month, honor bright. Think of my having to 
 depend on taxis ! It would make angels weep." 
 
 The sister continued to regard him and he 
 reddened under the pensive gaze, and twanged 
 the guitar. 
 
 "You never have paid me back the first of 
 the month and I wish you would n't promise," 
 she said at last; "but I'll tell you what I'll do. 
 
 Ill
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 I'm coming home to spend Sunday and I will 
 give you the ten dollars it's all I have just 
 now if you will take me to see that cousin 
 of ours." 
 
 "What cousin?" asked Edgar. 
 
 "Aunt Mary's heir. The artist." 
 
 "Why are you determined to stuff him down 
 my throat? He is absolutely no kin to us and 
 has no demand on us. I decline." 
 
 "Then I shall go with mother," declared 
 Kathleen, in her laziest drawl. " I 'm sure she 
 will take me. I am interested in his determina- 
 tion. I want to see his oil stove. I want to 
 pat Pegasus." 
 
 "Go, then, and much good may it do you!" 
 Edgar put down the guitar and started up. 
 "Where's the ten, Kath ? Awful sorry to bother 
 you." 
 
 The girl did not rise. She shook her head. 
 
 "You haven't earned it. I've decided you 
 must work for this one, before it follows its 
 predecessors to that bourne from which no 
 bank-note returneth." 
 
 There was an unusual sparkle in the eyes that 
 met the blue ones. 
 
 "You said you could go with mother," pro- 
 tested Edgar. 
 
 112
 
 Brother and Sister 
 
 "I can if I have to, but I prefer to hunt up 
 stables with a man." 
 
 "Oh, confound it! you always get your own 
 way. Fork over, then. I'll go with you; but 
 it just means fastening him right on us. We'll 
 be cousins then for sure." 
 
 Kathleen went to her closet and reappeared 
 with the ten dollar bill. With a gesture of fare- 
 well she touched her finger to her lips and be- 
 stowed the kiss on the bank-note. 
 
 Her brother looked at his watch. 
 
 "Great Scott! I've got to hike for that 
 train," he said; and wriggling into his overcoat 
 he kissed his sister's cheek, and hurried away.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE FLITTING 
 
 IT was Eliza's last day in the apartment. Out 
 of respect to probable scruples on the part of 
 her future hostess as to travelling on Sunday, 
 she had planned to sit idle this Sabbath day, 
 although everything was packed and she was 
 ready to start. 
 
 j By Mrs. Wright's advice she had sold nearly 
 all the shabby furnishings of the apartment. 
 She had eaten a picnic luncheon in the forlorn 
 kitchen, from whence even the gambolling 
 kittens had fled to the bottom of Eliza's trunk, 
 and now sat on a camp-chair in the middle of 
 the empty parlor, as solitary as Alexander Sel- 
 kirk on -his island, monarch of all she surveyed, 
 which was a pair of green eyes glowering at her 
 from behind the wire network in the side of a 
 wicker basket, which reposed on the only other 
 chair in the room. 
 
 Stern and inexorable looked Eliza sitting in 
 state on the camp-chair, and furious glared the 
 jewel eyes back at her. 
 
 114
 
 The Flitting 
 
 "You've got to get used to it, Pluto," she 
 said. "Do you suppose I like it any better than 
 you do? I don't know as you 're so bad off 
 either. I think I 'd like to be put in a bag and 
 carried to Brewster's Island with no care of 
 cars or boats or anything else. You always do 
 get the best of it." 
 
 Eliza looked very haggard. It had been a 
 wrenching week, packing her dear one's belong- 
 ings, and selling into careless, grudging hands 
 the old furniture with its tender associations. 
 
 Philip had been too busy to come to her aid. 
 They had exchanged notes. She had addressed 
 him at the Fabians', and he had replied that he 
 had taken a room, and asked that his belongings 
 be stacked up somewhere. He promised that he 
 would come for them early Sunday afternoon. 
 
 So now she was waiting, her capable hands 
 folded in her black alpaca lap, and her face ex- 
 pressing endurance. 
 
 "I'm countin' the hours, Pluto," she de- 
 clared. "This place is misery to me now. I feel 
 just as much in a strange garret as you do in 
 that basket. I just wish Mr. Sidney 'd come 
 and take his things and then there won't be 
 much more daylight to look around here in. 
 And I hope you won't act like all possessed
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 when we start for the train nor when we get on 
 it." 
 
 "Meow!" cried Pluto, exasperated. 
 
 "There now!" exclaimed Eliza, in trepida- 
 tion "you do that just once when the tram's 
 standin' still, and where '11 we be ! I Ve always 
 thought you had a little more intelligence than 
 the law allows; and if you go to actin' like an 
 alley cat you'll disappoint me dreadfully!" 
 
 Eliza rose anxiously and threw herself on her 
 knees beside the basket and opened it. Pluto 
 sprang out, and she caught him and pressed her 
 thin cheek against his fur in a rare caress. Her 
 eyes stung in her effort to repress tears. 
 
 "Oh, law! I 'm sick o' myself," she muttered. 
 "Cryin'! cryin'! gracious, what a fool! I'd 
 ought to sold you to somebody, I suppose," 
 she clung tighter to the handsome creature 
 and buried her eyes in his glossy coat, "or 
 given you 'away, more likely. Who'd want to 
 pay anything for a cat that don't know how 
 bothersome it's goin' to be to get the right train, 
 and has n't the decency to keep his mouth shut, 
 and Oh!" as a knock sounded on the door. 
 "There he is now." 
 
 The glow of Eliza's one interview with Mrs. 
 Ballard's heir had faded long ago. The sordid 
 
 116
 
 The Flitting 
 
 and wounding events of the week had eclipsed 
 whatever cheer he had brought her, and it was 
 only as one of the events of her flitting that she 
 looked forward to his advent this afternoon, 
 and the departure of the last and most intimate 
 of her dear one's possessions. 
 
 The knock on the door preceded its immedi- 
 ate opening. 
 
 "May I come in?" 
 
 The long step took the little hall in three 
 strides. 
 
 r The sight that met the newcomer's eyes was 
 the bare room, with Eliza kneeling in front of 
 an open basket, clasping Pluto to her breast. 
 The woman's face and posture were dramatic. 
 
 "Deserted!" was the word that rose to Phil's 
 lips, but he repressed it. He would not twit on 
 facts; but his all-observing eyes shone. 
 
 "I'm always wanting to paint you, Eliza," 
 he said. " Sometime I will, too." 
 
 "Me!" returned Eliza drearily. "You'll be 
 hard up when you take me." 
 
 "So far as that goes, I'm hard up now. 
 That's chronic," responded Phil cheerfully. 
 "What are you doing not taking leave of 
 that king among cats? If you're leaving him 
 behind, I speak for him." 
 
 117
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "H'm!" exclaimed Eliza, loosening her clasp 
 of her pet and rising. "You'd made a bad 
 bargain if you took Pluto." She removed the 
 basket from its chair. " Sit down, Mr. Sidney," 
 she said wearily, resuming her own seat. "It's 
 too forlorn for you to stay, but maybe you'd 
 like to ketch your breath before you take the 
 things." 
 
 Philip picked up the basket and looked curi- 
 ously at its wire window. 
 
 "Yes," continued Eliza. " I 'm taking Pluto, 
 so I had to have that. It was an extravagance, 
 and he ain't worth it. I despise to see folks 
 cartin' cats and dogs around. I did n't think 
 I'd ever come to it; but somehow I'm used 
 to that selfish critter, and he's he's all the 
 folks I Ve got. It never once came to me that 
 you 'd take him." 
 
 "Indeed I would," replied Phil; "and wait 
 till you see the place I have for him. Rats and 
 mice while you wait, I suppose, though I 
 have n't seen any yet." 
 
 "Oh, well," returned Eliza hastily, her eyes 
 following Pluto as he rubbed himself against 
 Phil's leg. " I Ve got the basket now. I guess 
 I '11 have to use it." 
 
 "It's a shame I haven't been here to help 
 118
 
 The Flitting 
 
 you," said Phil. "You've had a hard week, I 
 know, but I've had a busy one." 
 
 "You've got a room, you say," said Eliza 
 listlessly. "Rats and mice. That don't sound 
 very good." 
 
 Phil smiled. "I don't know, as I say, I 
 have n't seen them yet; but Pluto would be a 
 fine guard to keep them off my blankets. I 
 don't believe, though, there's been any grain in 
 there for a good while." 
 
 "Grain!" repeated Eliza. 
 
 Phil laughed. "I'll tell you about it later; 
 but first, may I have the things? I have an 
 expressman down at the door. I rode over here 
 with him in state. Good thing I did n't meet 
 Mrs. Fabian." 
 
 Eliza's thin lip curled as she rose. She led 
 Philip to a room, in the middle of which was 
 gathered a heterogeneous collection of articles. 
 "In this box is the paintin' things," she said, 
 touching a wooden case. " In this barrel is some 
 dishes. I could n't get anything for 'em any- 
 way, and you wrote you was going to get your 
 own breakfasts." 
 
 "Capital," put in Phil; "and here's a bed- 
 stead." 
 
 "Yes, and the spring and mattress," re- 
 119
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 turned Eliza. "It's Mrs. Ballard's bed. I 
 could n't sell it." 
 
 Philip regarded the disconnected pieces dubi- 
 ously "I guess I 'd have to be amputated at 
 the knees to use that." 
 
 "Well," -Eliza shook her head quickly. 
 "Take it anyway, and do what you've a mind 
 to with it, only don't tell me. The beddin' 's in 
 the barrel with the dishes you said you 'd be 
 glad of a chair, so here 's one, and the two in the 
 parlor are for you. You can take 'em right 
 along. I have n't got very long to wait anyway. 
 I calc'late to go to the station early." 
 
 Phil touched her shoulder with his hand. 
 
 "I'll see that you get to the station early 
 enough." 
 
 "You must n't think o' me," said Eliza, as 
 Phil picked up some of the furniture and started 
 for the stairs. 
 
 When he returned for the next load he brought 
 the expressman with him. Together they took 
 the last of the articles down the stairway. 
 
 Eliza stood at the top and watched the final 
 descent. 
 
 "Good-bye Mr. Sidney," she said. 
 
 He smiled brightly up at her across a couple 
 of chairs, and the easel. 
 
 1 20
 
 The Flitting 
 
 "Good-bye for five minutes." 
 
 "No, no," said Eliza; "don't you come 
 back." She winked violently toward the re- 
 ceding cap of the expressman. "You'd better 
 ride right over with the things just the way 
 you came." 
 
 "All right," responded Phil laughing. "Bon 
 voyage! " 
 
 "Hey?" asked Eliza. 
 
 "Have a good trip. My respects to Pluto." 
 
 She went back into the apartment and closed 
 the door. It seemed emptier, stiller than ever 
 after the little flurry of moving. 
 
 "It was clever of him," she thought grate- 
 fully, "not to let the other man handle the 
 easel." 
 
 ' Now, indeed, desolation settled upon Eliza 
 Brewster. Pluto's short tail stiffened in the 
 majestic disapproval with which he walked 
 about the room in search of an oasis of comfort. 
 
 Eliza heard his protesting meows. She stood 
 still at the window looking out on the grey 
 November sky. " I have n't got a chair to sit 
 down on, Pluto," she said. "It's got past 
 cryin'!" 
 
 She took out the gold-faced watch that was 
 ticking against her thin bosom. Two hours yet 
 
 121
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 before there would be any reason in going to the 
 station. Suddenly it occurred to her that she 
 had placed flannel in the bottom of the cat's 
 travelling-basket. This would be the golden 
 opportunity to endear the spot to his forlorn 
 feline heart. 
 
 She tucked the watch back in its hiding- 
 place. "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!" she cried. 
 
 No response. The receding meows had ceased. 
 She looked perplexed; then an illuminating 
 thought occurred to her. Tables there were 
 none, but the square top of the kitchen range 
 remained. On this she had spread clean papers 
 and upon them had laid her coat and hat, and 
 the shabby boa and muff of black astrachan 
 which had belonged to her dear one. 
 ( She hastened down the hall. Her intuition 
 had not failed. Upon this bed, his glossy coat 
 revealing the rustiness of the garments, lay 
 Pluto curled up, regardless of vicissitudes. 
 
 Eliza had scarcely swept him off his bed when 
 the outer door of the apartment opened again, 
 and closed. 
 
 "There," called a cheerful voice; "that's 
 finished. Business before pleasure." 
 
 Eliza hastened out into the hall. "You, Mr. 
 Sidney?" she exclaimed in surprise. "Why, 
 
 122
 
 The Flitting 
 
 you have n't had time to get over there. Is 
 your room so near?" 
 
 "Oh, no. We've been making the wagon 
 artistically safe, so as not to smash any of Aunt 
 Mary's valuables." The speaker, strong and 
 breezy, smiled reassuringly into Eliza's anxious 
 face. 
 
 "You'd ought to gone with him," she said. 
 "Do you suppose the folks '11 let him in all 
 right." 
 
 1 "There are n't any folks but English spar- 
 rows," returned Phil. "I don't think they'll 
 object." 
 
 "What are you sayin'?" demanded Eliza. 
 "If there's a house in this city where there 
 ain't any folks, I did n't know it. It's queer, 
 ain't it, Mr. Sidney, that it's folks make loneli- 
 ness. Now, this buildin' 's running over with 
 folks, but there ain't an apartment where I 
 could go in and say good-bye. They're always 
 movin' in and movin' out like ants, and it makes 
 it worse than if there was nobody. It was clever 
 of you to come back, but don't you stay, 'cause 
 there ain't any place to sit but the floor, and 
 I'm going in just a few minutes to leave the key 
 where I promised the agent I would, and then 
 on to the station." 
 
 123
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "When does your train go?" asked Phil. 
 
 " I ain't just certain," replied Eliza evasively. 
 "I'll get there in good season." 
 
 "I'm sure you will." Phil's eyes looked very 
 kind. "How did you happen to take a night 
 train?" 
 
 "Well, I did n't know as Mrs. Wright would 
 want me to travel on Sunday." 
 
 "Is n't it Sunday in the afternoon?" 
 
 "Not after six o'clock," replied Eliza hastily. 
 "We could play dominoes after six o'clock when 
 I was a youngster." 
 
 "Aha," said Phil. "Then that train does n't 
 go till after six. It is n't yet three." 
 
 "Now, Mr. Sidney," Eliza was frowning 
 at her own blunder, - "I wish you would n't 
 trouble yourself. The station's nice and warm. 
 I expect Pluto '11 act like all possessed, but I 
 did n't calc'late to have any comfort with him. 
 I'd been practisin' with him in the basket be- 
 fore you came to-day." 
 
 Eliza's careworn brow went to her visitor's 
 heart. 
 
 "Where are you to leave the key? I '11 take it 
 for you." 
 
 "Oh, you need n't. It's the janitor, right 
 here in the buildin'." 
 
 124
 
 The Flitting 
 
 "Then it's all clear sailing," said Phil. "Get 
 on your things, Eliza." 
 
 "It's a little early," she demurred. "If it 
 was n't for Pluto I would n't care; but you go 
 along, Mr. Sidney, and don't think anything 
 more about us. You ought to go and see that 
 those goods get in all right." 
 
 "We'll be there to meet them. Do you sup- 
 pose I would let you leave New York without 
 seeing where I'm going to live? And do you 
 suppose I 'd let you out of my sight anyway till 
 I put you on the train?" 
 
 "Dear me!" returned Eliza, fluttered, but 
 feeling as if the sun had suddenly peeped 
 through the November clouds. "I never 
 thought - " she stopped undecidedly. 
 
 "Well, I did," said Phil heartily. "It's a 
 shame that I have n't helped you any this hard 
 week. Where 's Pluto?" 
 
 "He may be back on the stove again," re- 
 turned Eliza. "I don't dare take my eyes off 
 him." She moved quickly toward the kitchen, 
 and there on her habiliments lay the cat; but 
 at sight of her he leaped guiltily to the floor. 
 
 Phil, following, laughed. "Well, things have 
 come to a pretty pass when you have to hang 
 your coat up on the stove." He looked about 
 
 125
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 the spotless place. " I wonder if this apartment 
 will ever be so clean again." 
 
 "Oh, I'm clean," admitted Eliza. "Mr. 
 Sidney," she paused again, her coat in her 
 hand, and faced him, "you don't want to go 
 traipsing through the streets o' New York with 
 an old woman and a cat!" 
 
 "That's where you 're wrong," returned Phil. 
 "You're the only girl I have in town. It's 
 highly proper that we should go walking of a 
 Sunday afternoon. You get on your things, and 
 I'll wrestle with Pluto." 
 
 The cat, suspecting that whatever plan was 
 afoot was not entirely according to his taste, 
 led Phil a short chase; but all the havens which 
 usually harbored his periods of rebellion having 
 disappeared, he was soon captured, and when 
 Eliza, hatted and coated, entered the living- 
 room, Phil had laid the cat on the flannel in the 
 bottom of the basket, and was keeping him 
 there by reassuring caresses. 
 
 "Ain't he just as kind as he can be!" 
 thought Eliza. 
 
 "Ready?" asked Phil, and closed the basket. 
 He met Pluto's gaze through the window. 
 
 "It's all right, old chap," he laughed. 
 
 He was not unmindful of the advantage of this 
 126
 
 The Flitting 
 
 diversion of Eliza's mind, in leaving the apart- 
 ment forever. He had a green memory of her 
 stormy emotion. He tried to take the key from 
 her now as they stepped outside. 
 
 "No," she said briefly, "I'll close this chap- 
 ter myself," and she locked the door. 
 
 Philip balanced the basket ostentatiously. 
 "Believe me," said he, "Pluto is some cat! 
 How did you expect to get on with him 
 alone?" 
 
 " I calc'lated to get a boy," replied Eliza in an 
 Unsteady voice. Memories were crowding her. 
 
 "Well, you have one," returned Phil, leading 
 the way downstairs. 
 
 "But I'm strong, too. You've heard about 
 the woman that carried the calf uphill every 
 day till it was a cow ? I 've had Pluto ever since 
 his eyes was open." 
 
 "Well, you'd need some hill-climbing with 
 him to fit you for taking the elevated." 
 
 "Yes, I did some dread those steps. It's 
 certainly clever of you, Mr. Sidney. They say 
 the lame and the lazy are always provided 
 for." 
 
 Thus Eliza Brewster left her home of years. 
 She gave the key to the janitor and went out 
 into the dull, damp November afternoon with 
 
 127
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 her strong escort, whose good cheer again im- 
 pressed her consciousness as a wonderful thing 
 to have any relation to her own life. 
 
 "You've learned your way around real 
 quick," said Eliza as they plunged into the 
 nearest subway station. 
 
 "This is all bluff, Eliza, and you're the most 
 trustful woman in the world. I want to go 
 somewhere near Gramercy Park; but if we 
 come out at Harlem I shall try to look as if I 
 lived there." 
 
 " Gramercy Park ! " exclaimed Eliza ; and she 
 thought "Well, at that rate, Mrs. Ballard's 
 money won't last long." 
 
 "I did n't know," she said aloud, "as you'd 
 feel like gettin' a room in a real fashionable 
 neighborhood." 
 
 "I'll bet," she thought acutely, "that's Mrs. 
 Fabian's doin's." 
 
 The subway train came crashing in, and 
 Pluto crouched in his basket. 
 
 Eliza's suspicions and anxieties increased 
 as, after leaving the subway, their journey 
 continued; and when they finally came into a 
 region of old and aristocratic dwellings, her 
 eyes were round and she could no longer keep 
 silent. It was an outrage, an imposition, to 
 
 128
 
 The Flitting 
 
 have influenced the young art-student to com- 
 mit himself to a home in these surroundings. 
 
 "I'd 'a' been a whole lot better person to 'a* 
 helped you find a place than Mrs. Fabian," she 
 said, more and more impressed with the incon- 
 gruity of the situation. To be sure, Phil looked 
 like a prince and fit for any environment; but 
 not while trudging along with a shabby, grey- 
 haired woman, and carrying a cat-basket. 
 
 "I know, I know, Eliza," he returned, with 
 gay recognition of her perturbation and dis- 
 approval. "I'm sorry sometimes that elegance 
 and luxury are necessary to me. It's the pen- 
 alty of blue blood. Mrs. Fabian had nothing to 
 do with this ; but I had to find my level, Eliza. 
 Blood will tell." 
 
 "You said rats and mice," she returned 
 mechanically. "Are you sure you've got the 
 right street?" 
 
 "Sure as a homing pigeon; by the way, I 
 might keep pigeons! I never thought of it." 
 
 "For the rats?" inquired Eliza with some 
 asperity. 
 
 She had always heard that geniuses were 
 erratic. Also that without exception they were 
 ignorant of the value of money. Poor Mrs. 
 Ballard ! What a small space of time it would 
 
 129
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 take for her little capital to be licked up as by a 
 fierce heat. 
 
 "This way," cried her escort, and swung 
 Pluto's basket triumphantly as he turned 
 abruptly into an alley. 
 
 Eliza caught her breath in the midst of her 
 resentment. "You do go in the back way, 
 then." 
 
 "Not a bit of it!" retorted Phil. "My proud 
 spirit could n't brook anything like that." He 
 caught Eliza's arm and hurried her pace. "We 
 go in the front way, please take notice!"
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 AN INTERRUPTED TEA 
 
 MORE bewildered every moment, Eliza hurried 
 along, obediently, and in a minute more found 
 herself in a paved yard on which faced a stable 
 built of stone similar to the fine house backing 
 upon it. 
 
 Phil threw open a side door and disclosed the 
 round, good-natured face of a man, leaning back 
 in a ragged Morris chair, his feet on a deal table. 
 
 "Hello, Pat. I've brought my best girl to 
 show her my room." 
 
 The Irishman sprang to his feet, and grinned 
 politely. 
 
 "They have old girls in New York," re- 
 marked Eliza drily. 
 
 "Whativer age ye are, mum," said Pat 
 gallantly, "ye don't look it." 
 
 They passed him and ascended a narrow 
 stair. "This is cement, Mr. Sidney," said 
 Eliza, "and probably no mice." 
 
 "That settles it, Pluto," remarked Phil. 
 "You for the island." 
 
 131
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 He ushered his companion into a room, 
 empty but for a deal table and chair, an oil 
 stove with a saucepan on it, and a couple of 
 piles of Indian blankets, two of which were 
 spread on the floor in place of rugs. One end of 
 the table was piled with sketches. 
 
 "Well!" exclaimed Eliza. "Why did you " 
 
 "Because," interrupted Phil laconically, and 
 pointed to a double window facing north. 
 
 "Take off your things, Eliza," he added 
 joyously, beginning to unbutton her coat. 
 
 "There were no horses that I saw," said the 
 bewildered visitor. 
 
 "Family in Europe," returned Phil. 
 
 "But it's warm and comfortable." 
 
 "Have to keep fires on account of the plumb- 
 ing. The coachman was a family man before 
 master and mistress departed, and they kept 
 house in two rooms up here. I have succeeded 
 to Mrs. Maloney's kitchen. Behold the running 
 water. The other room is used for storage. 
 Being single, Pat got the job of caretaker and 
 sleeps downstairs. Can you suggest an im- 
 provement?" 
 
 If Eliza had thought Phil handsome before, 
 she stared now at the illumination of his trium- 
 phant face as his eyes questioned her. 
 
 132
 
 An Interrupted Tea 
 
 She smiled, and there was a protesting 
 scramble in the basket. 
 
 "Come out, Katze, of course," said the host, 
 and, stooping, released the prisoner. 
 
 Pluto leaped forth and made a tour of the 
 room, smelling daintily of the blankets. 
 
 "Of course, when I get Aunt Mary's things, 
 you know," continued Phil. 
 
 "I wish they'd come," said Eliza, dazed and 
 smiling. "I'd like to see how they're goin' to 
 look." 
 
 "They'll be here before you leave. Now, 
 take the Turkish armchair, Miss Brewster, and 
 loll back while I talk to you; and pretty soon 
 we'll have some tea." 
 
 As he spoke the host doubled a striped blan- 
 ket over the kitchen chair and deposited Eliza. 
 She felt dumb in the change from dismal loneli- 
 ness to this atmosphere charged with vitality. 
 
 Phil threw himself on the blanket at her 
 feet, and leaning on one elbow looked up into 
 the eyes which wandered about the plastered 
 room. 
 
 "Made to order, Eliza, made to order," he 
 assured her. "No one but Mrs. Fabian knows 
 where I am, and she's not likely to interrupt 
 
 me." 
 
 133
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Stables ain't just in her line," said Eliza. 
 " I was afraid, comin' up the street, that she had 
 led you into extravagance." 
 
 "Oh, she is very kind," laughed Phil. "She 
 was appalled when I told her what I had found, 
 and seemed to think my oil stove the most 
 pathetic thing in the world." 
 
 "Yes," remarked Eliza. "Her son Edgar 'd 
 find some trouble livin' this way." 
 
 " I have n't met him yet." 
 
 "Nor Miss Kathleen?" 
 
 "No, she's at school, you know. Mrs. Fabian 
 has been very good to me. No one could be 
 kinder, and I'm afraid I've been a rather ab- 
 sent-minded guest, but getting started has been 
 so glorious. Eliza, I'm the most fortunate 
 fellow in the world. Just think! Even no paper 
 on these walls!" 
 
 Eliza looked with disfavor at the rough 
 greyish plaster. 
 
 "T would be more cheerful with some real 
 pretty pattern," she said. 
 
 Phil laughed and caught Pluto by the back of 
 the neck as he was passing, and lifted him over 
 into the hollow of his arm. 
 
 "I like it this way," he explained. 
 
 Eliza looked down at him admiringly. "I 
 134
 
 An Interrupted Tea 
 
 wish Mrs. Ballard could 'see you now," she 
 said. 
 
 " I wish she knew what she has done for me. 
 It seems as if this is the first time since my 
 childhood that I have known peace." 
 
 At the word there came a sound of voices 
 from below. 
 
 "The expressman!" exclaimed Phil, and 
 springing to his feet opened the door. 
 
 "Sure; go right up," they heard in Pat's rich 
 brogue. 
 
 " I 'd better help him," said Phil, and went to 
 the head of the stair. 
 
 What met his astonished gaze was a large 
 black velvet hat ascending. It was willowy with 
 drooping feathers, and in the dimness of the 
 narrow stair it eclipsed the motive power which 
 was lifting it. In his amazement Philip stepped 
 back and presently met a slender face whose 
 dark eyes were lifted to his. 
 
 "We're taking you by storm, Mr. Sidney," 
 said a low, slow voice. "I hope it's not incon- 
 venient." 
 
 Edgar followed close behind. " I tried to send 
 your man up ahead," he said stridently, "but 
 he seemed to think this sort of thing was all 
 right,"
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Philip stood back a pace further in actual 
 bewilderment, and Kathleen Fabian extended 
 her delicately gloved hand. 
 
 "We're the Fabians," she said, examining 
 her host with quick appraisement, and her 
 smile was alluring. 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Phil, recovering himself 
 and taking the hand. "Very kind of you, I'm 
 
 sure." 
 
 "If you think you're easy to find," said 
 Edgar as they greeted, "you're much mistaken. 
 Mother got it all wrong, as usual." 
 
 Philip took in at a glance the dapper form of 
 his visitor. He had not been insensible of Ed- 
 gar's neglect of him in the young man's own 
 home ; and had decided that Eastern and West- 
 ern ideas of hospitality must differ with more 
 than the width of a continent. 
 
 "Very good of you, I'm sure, to stick to 
 it," he returned composedly. "Come into my 
 suite and overlook its shortcomings if you 
 
 can." 
 
 Eliza had risen, startled. 
 
 "I suppose you both know Eliza Brewster," 
 continued Phil. "She made life comfortable 
 for Aunt Mary so many years." 
 
 Edgar Fabian jerked his blond head in Eliza's 
 
 136
 
 An Interrupted Tea 
 
 direction. "How do," he said; but the host's 
 tone and manner constrained Kathleen to 
 approach the grey-haired woman, and again 
 hold out the delicate hand. 
 
 "Was it you who made those good cookies 
 Aunt Mary used to give us?" she asked slowly, 
 looking curiously at Phil's guest. 
 
 Eliza allowed the white glove to take her 
 bony fingers a moment, then she stepped be- 
 hind the solitary chair and set it forward for the 
 visitor. 
 
 The girl would have accepted it, but Phil 
 interposed. 
 
 "Sit down, Eliza," he said good-humoredly. 
 "Miss Fabian can get chairs at home. I am 
 going to treat her with truly Oriental magnifi- 
 cence. Try this, Miss Fabian." The host indi- 
 cated a pile of Indian blankets, and Kathleen 
 sank upon them. 
 
 Then Phil turned to Edgar, who reached to 
 the host's ear as he stood in high-chested 
 superiority looking about the apartment with 
 disfavor. 
 
 "The choice of soft spots is small," said Phil, 
 "but help yourself. There's room beside your 
 sister here." 
 
 Edgar moved to the pile of blankets and sat 
 137
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 down; while Phil dropped, Turkish fashion, at 
 Eliza's feet and faced them. 
 
 "What a splendid cat!" said Kathleen. 
 
 "Yes," agreed Phil. "Come here, Katze, and 
 see the lady." He seized Pluto and handed him 
 over to Kathleen." 
 
 "Oh, get out," said Edgar. "I hate cats." 
 
 His sister moved Pluto over to her other side 
 where he drove his claws into the blanket with 
 satisfaction while she caressed him. 
 
 "He'll soil your glove," said Eliza; "his hair 
 comes out some." She resented the Fabian 
 touch on her pet, and Edgar's remark had sent 
 color to her sallow cheeks. 
 
 "I'd like a muff made of him," drawled 
 Kathleen. 
 
 "Too late," said Phil. "He's going to Maine 
 to-night with Eliza." 
 
 "He is n't your cat, then?" said the girl, and 
 brushed her glove. 
 
 "No, Eliza refuses to give him to me." 
 
 "There's that oil stove," remarked Edgar. 
 "I don't know what there is so particularly 
 virtuous about an oil stove; but mother throws 
 yours at me every time we have an argument." 
 
 Philip regarded the speaker speculatively. 
 Edgar's voice had an arrogant quality, which 
 
 138
 
 An Interrupted Tea 
 
 gave no idea of its beauty when he broke into 
 song. "I'd give you a glimpse of its virtues if 
 the expressman would come," replied the host. 
 He smiled up at Eliza while Kathleen watched 
 him. "Did you put in cups enough for all of 
 us?" 
 
 "Six cups and saucers," returned Eliza, "and 
 six plates, and six knives and forks, and six 
 spoons. I gave you the plated ones 'cause then 
 you would n't care if they were stolen." 
 
 "But I should care," returned Phil gravely. 
 "I shall search every departing guest." 
 
 "Indian blankets," said Edgar. "They sug- 
 gest the pipe of peace. Let's make it a cigar- 
 ette." He took out his case. 
 
 "Only one room here," remarked Phil. 
 "Perhaps the ladies object." 
 
 Edgar grinned at his sister. "Do you object 
 to a cigarette, Kath ? " he asked, offering her the 
 open case. 
 
 "Perhaps Mr. Sidney is not a smoker," she 
 said, "and it would be unsociable." 
 
 The same curiosity which had grown in 
 Phil's eyes as he regarded young Fabian, now 
 stole into them as they met Kathleen's. 
 
 "I'm almost sure Eliza doesn't indulge," 
 said the host, "and perhaps she does n't like it." 
 
 139
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 " Don't think of me, Mr. Philip, " exclaimed 
 Eliza hastily. "This is your house." 
 
 "My stable, you mean." He smiled. "No, 
 it's yours this afternoon, Eliza. You're to give 
 orders." 
 
 "Then you may smoke to your hearts' con- 
 tent," she responded promptly; and she sent an 
 inimical look toward the graceful girl in the 
 drooping hat. Let her smoke! Eliza hoped she 
 would, and let Philip Sidney see what the 
 Fabians were. 
 
 "Remove my sister's scruples, won't you, 
 Sidney?" said Edgar, offering his case. 
 
 Phil took a cigarette, and Edgar passed them 
 back to Kathleen. 
 
 "No, thanks," she replied. She had seen the 
 cool curiosity in the host's eyes as they rested 
 upon her a moment ago. 
 
 "Oh, go ahead," urged Edgar. 
 
 "I don't like your cigarettes," she returned 
 shortly, annoyed by his persistence. A deep 
 color grew in her cheeks. 
 
 "Wait till you know Kath better," said 
 Edgar with a wink toward Philip. "You'll 
 welcome any little human touches about her. 
 She's at the most painful stage of her college 
 career where she knows everything; and she's 
 
 140
 
 An Interrupted Tea 
 
 one of these high-brows ; saves money good 
 money and buys microscopes with it!" 
 The utter scorn of the speaker's tone, as he 
 offered Phil a light, caused the latter to smile. 
 
 "What are you doing with a microscope, 
 Miss Fabian ? " he asked. 
 
 "Hunting for an honest man," she returned 
 in her lingering speech. 
 
 "Stung!" remarked her brother. "Say, I 
 don't see any symptoms of painting up here," 
 he added, looking around. 
 
 "No; you'll have to come down to the aca- 
 demy to see the works of art I 'm throwing off," 
 said Phil. "I've been there two days." 
 
 Now there was another stir belowstairs and 
 this time it really was the expressman; and 
 Philip's effects began to come upstairs. 
 
 "I'm afraid we're dreadfully in the way," 
 said Kathleen; while Edgar held his cigarette 
 between two fingers and moved about, watch- 
 ing the invasion of barrels, boxes, and bedstead, 
 uncertain whether to lend a hand. "Aunt 
 Mary's old duds, as I'm alive!" he thought, 
 seeing Eliza's anxious supervision of each piece 
 as Phil came carrying it in. 
 
 " Agreatway to entertain you, Miss Fabian," 
 said the host brightly. 
 
 141
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "What can I do?" inquired Edgar perfunc- 
 torily, continuing to get in Phil's way with the 
 assiduity of a second Marcelline. 
 
 " If you won't mind being put on the shelf for 
 a minute," said Phil, tired of avoiding him, 
 "I'm going to tote in one more and then we're 
 done." And picking up the astonished Edgar he 
 set him on a barrel which had been placed in 
 a corner, and so succeeded in bringing in the 
 heaviest of the boxes undisturbed. 
 
 Edgar, very red in the face, swung his patent 
 leather feet for a minute and then jumped down. 
 "We must be going, Kath," he said stiffly. 
 
 "Not till you've found the mahl-stick," she 
 drawled, with stars in her eyes. "My brother is 
 so curious about your painting implements, 
 Mr. Sidney." 
 
 "They're in these boxes," responded Phil. 
 "The very ones that dear little Aunt Mary 
 used." 
 
 He had paid the expressman and was pulling 
 down his cuffs. His guests were both standing. 
 
 "Personally," he continued, " I think the 
 contents of the barrel more interesting just 
 now. You must n't go without a cup of tea. 
 One moment and I '11 make a raid on Pat for a 
 hammer." 
 
 142
 
 An Interrupted Tea 
 
 Phil left the room and Edgar still stood, 
 quite flushed under his sister's smile. 
 
 "Do you want any tea?" he asked severely. 
 
 "I think I do," replied Kathleen. 
 
 "I'll send the car back for you, then." 
 
 "Not at all," she answered; and when the 
 girl's voice took this tone and her eyes nar- 
 rowed, her brother usually paid attention. 
 After all, Kathleen was a useful court of last 
 appeal. It was unwise to offend her. 
 
 "What's the matter? Eliza can chaperone 
 you," he protested. 
 
 Simultaneously with Phil's disappearance 
 Eliza had moved to the window and looked 
 out on the advancing twilight. She heard the 
 words, and her thin lips tightened. 
 
 "That's the very cat that assaulted and 
 battered mother," went on Edgar, and although 
 he lowered his voice Eliza heard the words and 
 smiled grimly at a neighboring stable. 
 
 Kathleen frowned and motioned with her 
 head toward the black alpaca back. 
 
 Edgar shrugged his immaculate shoulders. 
 
 "Well, tell me when you have had enough of 
 it," he said, and threw himself back on the pile 
 of blankets. 
 
 Kathleen was just planning some civil over-
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 ture to Eliza when the host reappeared, a 
 hatchet in his hand. 
 
 "That bold son of Erin dares to imply that 
 I borrowed his hammer yesterday," he an- 
 nounced. "If I did, it is in Mrs. Maloney's 
 closet; and if there it is as a needle in a hay- 
 stack; for that closet, Miss Fabian, is respon- 
 sible for the air of chaste elegance you observe 
 in this apartment. If you '11 all stand aside, not 
 to be bombarded when I open the door, I will 
 give one glimpse within." 
 
 Phil opened the closet door cautiously, and 
 deftly caught a mandolin as it bounded forth. 
 
 "Sole relic of glee-club days," he remarked. 
 " I don't know why I brought it, for I could n't 
 play * Yankee Doodle' on it now." 
 
 He delved further into the closet, and Edgar, 
 picking up the mandolin as one friend in a 
 strange land, removed it from its case with slow 
 and condescending touch. 
 
 "Here's the hammer on the sink," said Eliza 
 suddenly. 
 
 "Saved!" exclaimed Phil, pushing back bil- 
 lowing folds of grey. " I was just about losing in 
 a combat with a bath-wrapper. Now, with these 
 chairs and the hammer, what is to prevent our 
 salon from being the most delightful success?" 
 
 144
 
 An Interrupted Tea 
 
 "Nothing!" exclaimed Kathleen, standing at 
 the end of the table. "I have found some 
 sketches, Mr. Sidney. May I look at them?" 
 
 "Certainly." The artist took the hammer 
 and began an attack on the barrel which caused 
 Edgar to raise his eyebrows in annoyance. 
 He was testing the strings of the mandolin. 
 
 "Shall I light the stove?" asked Eliza. 
 
 "No, you're the guest of honor. Sit down, 
 Eliza, and watch us. Mr. Fabian will light the 
 stove." 
 
 "Heaven forbid," exclaimed Edgar de- 
 voutly, " that I should touch the enemy of my 
 peace!" 
 
 Kathleen, her lip caught between her teeth 
 as she turned the sketches with concentrated 
 interest, sent an ironical glance toward her 
 brother, strumming the mandolin on the 
 blanket couch. 
 
 "Yes, you're elected, Fabian," said Phil, 
 deftly removing the barrel-hoop. "You have 
 the matches. You see the peace and calm on 
 my brow? That is because I am serene in the 
 knowledge of a lemon and a bag of sugar out- 
 side on the window ledge." 
 
 Reluctantly Edgar laid down the mandolin 
 and approached the stove. 
 
 H5
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "What do you do?" he asked superciliously. 
 "Turn on something at the bottom, and light it 
 at the top?" 
 
 "Edgar," warned his sister, "it is n't gas." 
 
 "Marrow-bones, Fabian, get down on them," 
 said Phil good-humo redly; and disgustedly 
 Edgar knelt to his bete noir. 
 
 Eliza's fingers itched to help him. She obeyed 
 Phil's warning gestures to keep her seat until 
 the match was finally applied to the wicks. 
 Then, seeing that they were turned too high, 
 she pounced down on the floor beside the young 
 man, and pushing his immaculate arm away 
 she lowered the wicks. 
 
 Edgar stared at the familiarity. "Excuse 
 me," she said shortly. 
 
 "Must have a finger in the pie, eh?" re- 
 marked Phil. 
 
 "Do you know how long it'd take to get this 
 room so full o' soot we could n't stay in it?" 
 asked Eliza. "I wonder what sort of a mess 
 you 're goin' to live in here, Mr. Sidney, if you 
 don't know that?" 
 
 "It's a smokeless one," protested Phil 
 meekly. 
 
 "The cat's foot!" quoth Eliza scornfully. 
 "Don't tell me! There's no such thing." She 
 
 146
 
 An Interrupted Tea 
 
 partly filled the kettle and placed it on the 
 stove, watching the wicks with a jealous eye. 
 
 Edgar removed himself from danger and 
 looked with exasperation at Kathleen, who with 
 eyes aglow was turning the sketches. 
 
 " If I ever worked as hard for tea as this I '11 
 be hung!" he thought, and returned to the 
 mandolin as the one congenial object in a for- 
 lorn abode. 
 
 Even its long silent strings spoke plaintively 
 against the vulgar banging which was removing 
 the barrel-head. 
 
 "There!" exclaimed Phil presently. "I 
 rather fancy the way I did that. I can use 
 that barrel again." 
 
 "Yes," assented Edgar as he strummed, 
 "for kindlings for the oil-stove." 
 
 Phil drew the barrel nearer the table. 
 
 "Now for the plums in the pudding," he said, 
 and began to draw forth some papered cups 
 from the excelsior. 
 
 Kathleen dropped the sketches and un- 
 wrapped the packages. She had stood three 
 cups and saucers on the table before Eliza 
 turned from her labors about the stove. 
 
 "What delightful old things!" exclaimed 
 the girl. 
 
 H7
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Now, are n't you glad you stayed?" asked 
 Phil, bringing forth a silver cream pitcher of 
 long ago. 
 
 Eliza caught sight of the table, and suddenly 
 threw up both hands with an exclamation. 
 
 "Mr. Sidney!" she cried. "I've given you 
 the wrong barrel!" 
 
 "What? What's happened?" inquired Phil, 
 halted by her tragic tone. 
 
 "All Mrs. Ballard's best things are in that 
 barrel; the old china that was her mother's, 
 and the solid silver, and everything; and I've 
 gone and sent yours with the substantial 
 crockery and the beddin' to the island!" 
 
 Edgar Fabian regarded Eliza as inimically as 
 his stepmother might have done. So this old 
 servant had been carrying off the heirlooms 
 and been discovered. 
 
 He sat up very straight on his blanket couch. 
 
 " I '11 speak to my mother," he said. " She can 
 come over to-morrow and get them, and buy 
 the right sort of thing for a bachelor" he 
 threw a glance around the plastered room 
 "apartment!" 
 
 Phil, not realizing the sensitiveness of the 
 subject, laughed. 
 
 "Good work, Eliza! We'll have one aristo- 
 148
 
 An Interrupted Tea 
 
 era tic tea in the Sidney studio, before we fall to 
 stone china and mugs." 
 
 "The others ain't stone china and mugs," 
 cried Eliza. She was trembling from head to 
 foot, as frightened and enraged by Edgar's sug- 
 gestion as if her own life had been at stake. 
 "They're all good, comfortable things. If it 
 was safe I 'd leave all these for you, Mr. Philip, 
 just as liefs to as not, for she loved you; but 
 you are gone all day; they'd be stole just as 
 Mr. Fabian says." 
 
 Edgar blinked, then his face grew scarlet as 
 the servant's implication grew upon him. 
 
 "What do you mean you !" 
 
 He leaped to his feet and faced Eliza, who 
 glared back at him. "These things should be- 
 long to my mother," he said, "and it's a good 
 thing you did n't succeed in getting away with 
 them. She may set some value on the old stuff. 
 I don't know." 
 
 "Edgar!" exclaimed Kathleen, as scarlet as 
 he, while the duel had all happened so suddenly 
 that the host stared, dazed. 
 
 He had just lifted another silver piece from 
 the barrel and taken it from its flannel bag. 
 
 "They do not belong to your mother," re- 
 turned Eliza angrily. "They belong to me, 
 
 149
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 to have and to hold, or to give away as I see 
 fit." 
 
 Edgar shrugged. "Oh, in that case " he 
 returned. He did n't like Eliza's eyes. 
 
 "In that case," said Phil to him gravely, "I 
 think you'll feel better to apologize to the 
 woman who has put Aunt Mary's relatives 
 under lifelong obligation for her devoted care." 
 
 Edgar tossed his head with a scornful 
 grimace. 
 
 "Yes, I understand perfectly," went on Phil, 
 coloring; "Aunt Mary was no kin to you, and 
 I understand that she was a person held in lit- 
 tle consideration by your family." The host's 
 attitude was tense now, and his look compel- 
 ling. "Nevertheless, Eliza Brewster happens 
 to be my honored guest to-day, and I'm sure 
 you will be glad to express your regret for your 
 choice of words." 
 
 "Edgar, you did n't understand," said Kath- 
 leen. "Say so. Why, of course, you're glad 
 to say so." 
 
 "No, I did n't understand," remarked Edgar 
 with a languid air, strumming the mandolin, 
 " and now that I do, I don't know that it is very 
 interesting." 
 
 Phil saw Kathleen's acute distress. 
 150
 
 An Interrupted Tea 
 
 "Very sorry, I'm sure," continued the young 
 man, nodding toward Eliza. "You can run 
 away with your barrel and welcome. The Fab- 
 ians will still have cups and saucers. I think," 
 returning Phil's grave gaze contemptuously, 
 " if your honored guest should apologize for 
 her attack on my mother, it would be quite as 
 much to the point. You heard her say that 
 mother would come over and steal her trash, 
 didn't you? Come, Kathleen." The speaker 
 dropped the mandolin, squared his shoulders, 
 and started for the door. 
 
 "No; oh, no!" exclaimed Phil, all his hearty 
 Western hospitality in arms at the sight of his 
 girl guest's expression. 
 
 Edgar turned on him again. "I fancied that 
 my mother had been rather civil to you since 
 your arrival. I'll tell her how you guard her 
 dignity." 
 
 Edgar was fairly swelling with emotion, one 
 fourth of which was indignant defence of his 
 mother, and three fourths joy at a clear case 
 against the poverty-stricken artist who had 
 dared set his own sacred person on a barrel and 
 make him light an oil-stove. 
 
 Kathleen's scarlet face and lambent eyes 
 spoke her distress. Phil, faced with condoning
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 the slur on his kind hostess, was bewildered and 
 uncertain. 
 
 Eliza saw it all and was the most disturbed 
 of the four. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Fabian, it's all my fault!" she ex- 
 claimed, looking appealingly at Edgar. "Please 
 stay for tea." 
 
 "Really, you know," said Phil, "this is all a 
 tempest in a tea-pot." He held up Aunt Mary's 
 graceful old-colonial silver. "This one would 
 be too big to hold it." 
 
 "Come, Kath," said Edgar, ignoring them. 
 "Will you come with me or shall I wait for you 
 in the car?" 
 
 Kathleen gave him an imploring look, but he 
 was already moving to the door. 
 
 Phil took an impulsive step toward her. 
 "Perhaps you will stay," he said, in supreme 
 discomfort. She gave him a little smile. "No, 
 I must n't," she answered gently. "I'm sorry I 
 had n't finished looking at the sketches." 
 
 "May I bring them over to you?" 
 
 She shook her head. "I go back to school in 
 the morning. Good-bye, I wish you all suc- 
 
 cess." 
 
 Eliza stood with tight-clasped hands. It had 
 been her fault that the bud of an acquaintance 
 
 152
 
 An Interrupted Tea 
 
 which might have been serviceable to her young 
 friend had been blighted. They would tell Mrs. 
 Fabian. She might visit her anger upon him. 
 Eliza had never expected to feel gratitude 
 toward one of the name, but her surprise was 
 mingled with that sentiment when Kathleen 
 now approached her, laying her smooth gloved 
 hand on the rough clasped ones to say good-bye. 
 
 "You are going to Brewster's Island?" she 
 asked. "It is a strange time of year." 
 
 "Twas my home once," replied Eliza, 
 tragedy of past and present so evident in her 
 haggard face that a touch of pity stirred the 
 girl's heart. 
 
 "I heard," said Kathleen, "that Mrs. Wright 
 is staying there. How can she in the desolate 
 winter?" 
 
 "I guess angels can live anywhere," re- 
 sponded Eliza. Her disturbed eyes met Kath- 
 leen's. "Miss Fabian," and her hard hand 
 grasped the gloved one, " I don't care how cold 
 the winter 's goin' to be if only you '11 promise 
 me that I have n't done any harm to this boy 
 here by my foolish talk. He ain't to blame if I 
 seemed to to speak about your mother. 
 Don't, don't let her blame him for it. If I 
 thought she would if I thought I 'd cut him 
 
 153
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 off from friends some day when I get to 
 thinkin' about it up there on that hill I feel as if 
 I should jump into the water and done with it." 
 
 "I'll explain," said Kathleen gently. "I 
 hope you '11 have a good winter. I 'm glad you 
 will have Mrs. Wright." 
 
 When the girl turned back, Edgar had gone; 
 and the veil of perfunctoriness had fled from her 
 host's eyes. He was looking at her as friend at 
 friend. 
 
 He escorted her downstairs, and out through 
 the alley to the waiting limousine within 
 which, with elevated feet, Edgar was already 
 solacing himself with a cigarette. At sight of 
 the approaching pair, he leaped from the car, 
 and received his sister with hauteur. 
 
 "Good-bye," said Phil composedly, when 
 they were inside; "very good of you to come." 
 
 He closed the door, the machine started, and 
 he returned to the stable, where Pat received 
 him with a grin, still standing where he had 
 risen when Kathleen passed through a minute 
 ago. "I say, me bye," he said huskily, jerking 
 his thumb in the direction of the stairway, " the 
 auld one above there she's yer second best 
 girl, I 'm thinkin'. That one," pointing to the 
 street, "she do be a princess all roight. She 
 
 154
 
 An Interrupted Tea 
 
 turned them lamps on me when she first come 
 in and asked for you, and I felt chape 'cause the 
 stairs was n't marble; but look out, me son, I 
 know that breed. She '11 make ye toe the mark." 
 
 Phil smiled. "To be honest with you, Pat, 
 I have just one best girl," he said emphatically. 
 
 Pat looked up at him with admiration. 
 
 "Is she in New York, thin?" 
 
 "Sometimes I think I shall get a glimpse of 
 her here." 
 
 "Sure if she knows where ye are ye will, 
 thin!" said Pat devoutly. "How does she dress 
 so I'll know her? I'll be on the watch." 
 
 "Just now in scarlet and gold," said Phil, 
 lifting his head and gazing beyond the stable 
 wall. 
 
 "Faith, she knows a thing or two," nodded 
 Pat. "Tis an old dodge, 'Red and Yeller, 
 ketch a feller.'" 
 
 " In winter she goes all in white," said Phil, 
 "soft, pure, spotless." 
 
 "Moighty wasteful fer the city!" said Pat 
 seriously. " 'T will be hard on yer pocket, me 
 bye." 
 
 "In spring she's in golden-green among the 
 browns, but in summer, full, glorious green, 
 Pat. Oh, she's a wonderful girl, a goddess!" 
 
 155
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Sure she is if she knows that green's the 
 best of all the game," exclaimed the Irishman. 
 "Whin'llshebecomin'?" 
 
 "Ah, I have to go to her, Pat." 
 
 " T is better so," agreed the other. 
 
 " I Ve thought she might meet me sometime 
 out in the park." 
 
 "She can, sir." Pat gave Phil's shoulder a 
 sounding slap. 
 
 "But I notice the park gate is kept locked." 
 
 "It is," agreed Pat, with shining face, "and 
 't is meself has a key. T will be yours for the 
 askin' any day in the week." 
 
 "Great!" responded Phil. "I'll remember 
 that." 
 
 "And sure I'll be lookin'," thought Pat, 
 watching the artist take the stairway in bounds. 
 "The women '11 mob that bye afore he gets 
 through. Sure I'd like to see the gurl brings 
 that look to his eyes."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 HEIRLOOMS 
 
 As the Fabian car started toward home, Edgar 
 hoped his sister would rally him on his failure to 
 chastise the puny artist from the West. Any- 
 thing was better than one of Kathleen's " stills," 
 as he called his sister's periods of scornful 
 silence. He was Kathleen's elder, he was her 
 brother. By every law of propriety she should 
 be guided by him and lean upon his opinions; 
 but as he now reflected she was "more apt to 
 jump on them." 
 
 At present her sombre eyes looked straight 
 ahead under the picture hat, and her counte- 
 nance expressed only composure of mind and 
 body. He had thrown away his cigarette, and 
 he began to hum the favorite aria from "Ma- 
 dam Butterfly." Kathleen, if she spoke at all, 
 would probably try to persuade him to say 
 nothing to their mother of the scene just passed. 
 He would offer her an opening for speech. Per- 
 haps she was anxious in spite of her acted 
 composure. 
 
 157
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "I heard 'Butterfly' last week," he said. 
 "Farrar can have me." 
 
 Silence. 
 
 "Well," he looked around at the slender dark 
 face with the eyes full of slumberous fire. 
 "Well, why don't you get off one of those juices 
 of yours about the fair Geraldine probably not 
 being aware of her good luck, et cetera ? " 
 
 The chauffeur was playing with the speed 
 limit. They would soon be at home. Kathleen 
 realized that this would be the only opportunity 
 to speak with her brother alone. 
 
 She slowly turned her head and met his 
 quickly averted gaze. "You are not usually so 
 chivalrous toward mother," she said. "Why did 
 you think it worth while to make such a fuss?" 
 
 "Twitting on facts is bad taste," declared 
 Edgar with his usual air of insouciance. If 
 his sister would only talk, all would be well. 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" 
 
 "Why, Aunt Mary's faithful retainer showed 
 the poorest possible taste. She said if mother 
 knew that those antiques were left unprotected 
 by anything but the oil-stove, she would 
 prance over to that stable and nab them." 
 
 Kathleen stared at him. "Do you mean that 
 she would?" 
 
 158
 
 Heirlooms 
 
 "Like a shot," responded Edgar cheerfully. 
 "Was n't I bound to resent it?" 
 
 Kathleen kept silence a space. Since she had 
 been at home this time, her mother had told her 
 with some excitement of Eliza's presumption in 
 retaining articles of no value to a servant. 
 
 "And whether I was warranted or not," went 
 on Edgar, elated by her muteness, "' there 
 comes an opportunity in the lives of men' 
 which seldom knocks on a man's door the sec- 
 ond time. I flatter myself I was quick enough 
 to shut the box between that wild and woolly 
 Westerner and us, so that he won't expect any- 
 thing more of me, in any event." 
 
 "I should think not," returned Kathleen 
 slowly. "The childish way you took your play- 
 things and went home was ridiculous." 
 
 Edgar's face flamed. "Don't be nasty, Kath- 
 leen, just because you know how," he said, 
 dropping his careless tone. "No doubt you 
 thought it was very funny to see me lifted about 
 like a doll, and on my knees lighting a stove. I 
 went there to please you, but I can tell you a 
 very little of alleys and stables will do for me. 
 When I go slumming it'll be where the poor 
 know their place and know mine." 
 
 "Oh, Edgar," said Kathleen hopelessly. 
 
 159
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Well, is it your intention to tell mother what 
 happened?" 
 
 "I'm going to keep that up my sleeve. It 
 may come in handy sometime." 
 
 " It would hurt her feelings, and do no good," 
 said the girl. 
 
 "Do no good? What! Not if it kept her from 
 inviting the cowboy early and often to the 
 house? Oh, yes, I've no doubt he's got you all 
 right. He's a looker, and girls are all alike." ' 
 
 Kathleen did not condescend to notice this 
 thrust. Her eyes turned back to gaze upon the 
 road as it flew beneath their car. "Don't lie 
 awake planning to avoid Mr. Sidney," she said 
 quietly. "He will probably always see you first; 
 but from the moment you tell mother about 
 this petty little scene we Ve just passed through, 
 you need never come to me for assistance in-any 
 line. I shall not give it to you." 
 
 Stealing a side glance at his sister's face, 
 Edgar Fabian knew that she meant what she 
 said. 
 
 "Supposing," she went on presently, "that 
 you had smoothed over an awkward moment, 
 and that we had had tea in Aunt Mary's egg- 
 shell cups, and had let that brave fellow think 
 he was giving us pleasure, and that you had 
 
 160
 
 Heirlooms 
 
 sung something to his mandolin in your charm- 
 ing voice; think of the difference in situation 
 to us all. Instead of four hurt people, scatter- 
 ing, and feeling awkward and ashamed, we 
 should have given the stranger in a strange 
 land a little housewarming to begin life with 
 here." 
 
 "Not four hurt people, if you please," re- 
 torted Edgar with bravado; but he was sur- 
 prised, and somewhat affected by his sister's 
 picture. His charming voice would doubtless 
 have increased the host's respect for him. 
 
 "I expect sometime, of course," he went on 
 with a superior air, "to be a patron of the arts 
 to a certain extent. If the cowboy makes good, 
 and learns to keep his hands off his betters, I 
 may do something for him yet." 
 
 Kathleen's risibles were not easily stirred; 
 but now she laughed low, and so heartily that 
 Edgar's inflation over her compliment to his 
 voice became as a pricked balloon. She even 
 wiped away a tear as she ceased. 
 
 "Philip Sidney is going to interest the pa- 
 trons of art," she said at last. 
 
 "What makes you so sure?" asked Edgar 
 with a sneer. "His physique?" 
 
 "His sketches, his superiority to his circum- 
 161
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 stances, and his behavior to Eliza," returned 
 Kathleen composedly. 
 
 "Great Scott ! " exclaimed her brother. " I 'd 
 like to see myself saddled with that gargoyle 
 and a wild-cat, in an unfurnished stable on a 
 dismal afternoon." 
 
 "Yes, you've shown your sympathy and 
 assistance in a manly and powerful manner," 
 said Kathleen, as the car stopped before the 
 brown-stone front of their home. 
 
 "Sarcasm, Miss Fabian," returned her bro- 
 ther, as he assisted her to alight, " is the cheap- 
 est and meanest of weapons. Each one to his 
 taste. That state of things suited him. It 
 would n't suit me. That's all. It takes all 
 sorts of people to make the world." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian was in the drawing-room, and as 
 her children entered she looked up expectantly, 
 then her face fell. 
 
 "I told you to bring Phil back with you to 
 tea." 
 
 "I forgot it, mother, really," said Kathleen. 
 She sat down and began taking off her gloves. 
 "But he could n't have come." 
 
 "No," added Edgar. "He had a guest; 
 your friend Eliza Brewster was there with her 
 
 cat.' 
 
 162
 
 Heirlooms 
 
 "Eliza ! " echoed Mrs. Fabian, sitting up. "Is 
 she going to cook for Philip ? " 
 
 "No," said Kathleen. "She is going to 
 Brewster's Island to-night." 
 
 "I tried," added Edgar, "to get her to send 
 you the cat as a souvenir, but she refused." 
 
 "I'm glad she is leaving town," said Mrs. 
 Fabian. " She is a very ungrateful person and I 
 detest ingratitude. Moreover, a person who is 
 in an anomalous position is always annoying, 
 and Aunt Mary made Eliza so much a member 
 of her family that the woman does n't know her 
 place. What was she doing over at Phil's?" 
 
 "Overseeing the moving in of Aunt Mary's 
 dunnage, " replied Edgar. 
 
 "Why! Has he more than one room?" asked 
 Mrs. Fabian with interest. 
 
 "No, mother," said Kathleen, in a tone de- 
 signed to offset Edgar's sprightly scorn. "He 
 has just one, and nothing in it but piles of 
 Indian blankets and a table and chair." 
 
 "The chair for Eliza, mind you," put in 
 Edgar, "while Kathleen and I were stowed on 
 the floor." 
 
 A spark glowed in the girl's eyes as she re- 
 garded her brother. "He let you sit on a barrel, 
 I remember," she said. 
 
 163
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Oh, yes," returned Edgar; " and speaking of 
 barrels," he went on, a belligerent spark glow- 
 ing in his eyes, "a ripping thing happened. 
 All this old stuff came over while we were there, 
 and among them a barrel of dishes. Well, Sid- 
 ney opened it and began taking out the things, 
 but instead of the coarse stuff Eliza had meant 
 to give him, there were gold-banded china, and 
 colonial silver tea-things ' 
 
 Mrs. Fabian's backbone suddenly seemed of 
 steel. "Aunt Mary had a few fine old things," 
 she interrupted. 
 
 "Well, there they were. She'd given Sidney 
 the wrong barrel. You should have seen her 
 face. She was ready to faint." 
 
 "You say she leaves to-night?" Mrs. 
 Fabian's eyes were looking far away through 
 the wall of her house toward Gramercy Park. 
 "Philip won't want the care of those delicate 
 old things," she added. "I'll get some proper 
 ones for him in the morning." 
 
 Edgar laughed gleefully, none the less that 
 Kathleen's lips were grave. 
 
 "If I were you, mother," said the girl, "I 
 would let them work it out. Eliza seems to 
 have taken the helm over there." 
 
 "Of course she has," agreed Mrs. Fabian 
 164
 
 Heirlooms 
 
 sharply. "Taking is Eliza's forte. That china 
 and silver belonged to my grandmother. If 
 Aunt Mary did n't have enough thoughtfulness 
 to leave it to me in writing, is that any reason 
 it should not be mine?" 
 
 "Aunt Mary knew," said Kathleen, "that 
 you had everything you wanted." 
 
 "Everything I needed, perhaps," retorted 
 Mrs. Fabian, with excitement, "but I certainly 
 want my own grandmother's things; and Provi- 
 dence has thrown them into my hands. I shall 
 explain everything to Philip and he will be glad 
 to have me take them. Is n't he all that I said 
 he was, Kathleen?" 
 
 "He is very interesting," returned Kathleen 
 quietly. 
 
 Then she rose and went to the door. Edgar 
 followed her uneasily to the foot of the stairs. 
 
 " I 'm not going to peach, Kath, don't worry," 
 he said. "I'll keep the compact. I just wanted 
 to prove to you that I knew the mater." 
 
 His sister turned on him. "I told you that 
 you should have been the girl and I the man," 
 she said ; and he winced under the contempt of 
 her look. "If mother gets those things to- 
 morrow, the result for you will be just what I 
 promised. I shall never be at your call again."
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "You said " began Edgar, perturbed. 
 
 But Kathleen ran swiftly upstairs. Her 
 brother returned to the drawing-room. 
 
 "What's the matter with Kathleen?" in- 
 quired Mrs. Fabian. "She behaved so 
 strangely." 
 
 "Oh," returned Edgar, shaking his head as if 
 exasperated beyond patience, "Kath's a stiff. 
 She can't see a joke if she runs into it. Now, I 
 think that barrel business was funny, don't 
 you?" 
 
 "It's something more than funny," returned 
 Mrs. Fabian impressively. "It's Providence, 
 as I said." 
 
 "Well, now, I'll wager," declared her son 
 argumentatively, "that if you take the law 
 into your own hands and bring that old truck 
 over here, Kathleen will cut us both." 
 
 "What in the world is the reason? Was she 
 so impressed with Philip ? I think he 's irresist- 
 ible myself, but Kathleen is so unimpression- 
 able and beside, he won't disapprove." 
 
 "I'm not so sure. He treats Eliza as if she 
 was the one best bet. I don't pretend to know 
 all Kath thinks. She's a high-brow and a crank. 
 Do you suppose she'd look at a man unless he 
 was a college professor? I guess not." 
 
 166
 
 Heirlooms 
 
 "Don't speak of your sister so, Edgar. You 
 have reason to be grateful that she is not an 
 ordinary silly flirt." 
 
 "Flirt!" ejaculated Edgar, with rolling eyes. 
 "Do you suppose she'd sit on the stairs with 
 anything but a Latin book, or flirt with any- 
 thing but a microscope?" 
 
 "Well, then, you don't have to worry about 
 her?" 
 
 "Don't I!" retorted Edgar laconically. 
 
 "I must say," pursued Mrs. Fabian virtu- 
 ously, "it is too much for Kathleen always to 
 expect me to hold her judgment superior to 
 mine. I shall do in this matter what I see fit." 
 
 "Then it's all up with me," observed Edgar. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "She'll visit it on me. She always does." 
 Edgar was beginning to wish that he had not 
 played with fire. "Beside, in this case, Eliza 
 says that old stuff belongs to her; is hers to do 
 as she pleases with." 
 
 " Yes," returned Mrs. Fabian, with righteous 
 indignation. "Possession is nine tenths of the 
 law; and if I get that possession we'll see what 
 the law can do for her!" 
 
 "Oh," protested Edgar petulantly, "why do 
 you want to bother with it?"
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 His mother's eyes were glistening. In fancy 
 she saw the convenient barrel in which was 
 compactly stowed Aunt Mary's little store of 
 heirlooms. 
 
 "Because," she answered with dignity, "gen- 
 uine old things like that are not to be de- 
 spised. They would be just the thing at the 
 island." 
 
 "That's what Eliza thought," said Edgar 
 drily. 
 
 "The idea," exclaimed Mrs. Fabian, "of 
 her using such things in the sort of home she '11 
 have!" 
 
 "Perhaps she'll console Mrs. Wright with 
 them," said Edgar. "You were pitying her last 
 night for her winter exile." 
 
 "If she did, Mrs. Wright would give them 
 back to me at once," declared Mrs. Fabian; 
 "but never mind, there will be no need now. 
 Providence has thrown them right into my 
 hands. Occasionally you can see justice work 
 out in this world." 
 
 Edgar looked toward the portieres. Kathleen 
 might return. There was no sign of any one 
 approaching, however. 
 
 "Well, I'm in wrong with Kath for having 
 spoken of it, then," he said. "Let me have 
 
 168
 
 Heirlooms 
 
 twenty, will you, mother? You can afford to 
 on the strength of the heirlooms." 
 
 "I can't, Edgar." 
 
 "Ten, then; you owe me that much, I'm 
 sure." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian's lips took a tight line. 
 
 "You know, Edgar," she said impressively, 
 "your father has forbidden me to give you 
 money. He says you must learn the worth of 
 it." 
 
 The youth shrugged his shoulders impa- 
 tiently, and throwing himself into an easy- 
 chair, stretched his legs toward the blazing 
 logs and stared at the fire with the gloom of 
 one who feels that he has killed the goose 
 that laid the golden eggs. He had not, how- 
 ever, told of Eliza's insult and his own wrath- 
 ful departure from the stable. He could de- 
 fend himself to Kathleen so far, when next 
 they met, and it might possibly soften her 
 heart. 
 
 When Philip Sidney bounded up the stable 
 stairs, he came in upon Eliza, who was standing 
 as he had left her, and with such a woe-begone 
 expression that, meeting her tragical gaze, he 
 burst into a peal of laughter. 
 
 169
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Philip, Mr. Philip!" she mourned. 
 " I Ve spoiled everything." 
 
 "What! Let the kettle boil over?" 
 
 "No, no; you'll make light of it for my sake; 
 but I Ve turned the Fabians against you ! That 
 pert little bantam will go home and tell his 
 mother everything, and it'll make a lot o' differ- 
 ence. They might have been lots o' use to you." 
 
 "Don't borrow trouble, Eliza. I 'm not going 
 to have our last visit spoiled. I don't make use 
 of my friends anyway; and beside, I 'm going to 
 be too busy to have any. Come, now, make the 
 tea. I want to see you drink so much that you 
 * swell wisibly before my wery eyes.' Shall we 
 use this fine old silver jug?" 
 
 "Mr. Sidney." Eliza wrung her hands. 
 "You're awful smart and strong; can we get 
 this barrel headed up again and off to the depot 
 to-night?" 
 
 "Why," Phil hesitated, "I suppose so, but 
 would n't you rather have your tea in comfort 
 now, before we go out to dinner, and let me do 
 the barrel to-morrow and send it off?" 
 
 "There would n't be any barrel," returned 
 Eliza darkly. "Not unless you packed and sent 
 it before you went to your school." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 170
 
 Heirlooms 
 
 "You heard me tell 'em right to their face," 
 said Eliza. 
 
 "Oh, surely," protested Phil, "you don't 
 think Mrs. Fabian would do anything high- 
 handed?" 
 
 "Wouldn't she, though?" returned Eliza. 
 "She has n't got over it yet that Mrs. Ballard 
 sent your mother a diamond pin and did n't 
 leave her anything." 
 
 Phil looked puzzled. "Why did n't Aunt 
 Mary remember Aunt Isabel ? " he asked. 
 
 "To tell the truth, I don't think Mrs. 
 Ballard meant to slight her. She just did n't 
 think anything about it. She knew Mrs. Fabian 
 was rich, and did n't suppose she'd care for 
 any of her little things. Your mother always 
 acted human toward her, and was her name- 
 sake, and 't was natural she should send her 
 something." 
 
 "Well, well; have a cup of tea anyway." 
 Eliza's pallor went to her host's heart. He 
 went to the window and brought in the lemon 
 and sugar. 
 
 Eliza followed him with her eyes. 
 
 "Do you think you can, Mr. Sidney?" she 
 asked, her hands interlocked. 
 
 "Can what?" 
 
 171
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Do the barrel. I'll never forget it of you," 
 she said fervently. 
 
 "I can't believe there's any necessity for 
 such haste. Pat 's a good watch-dog so far as 
 thieves are concerned." 
 
 "You don't know what you 're talking about, 
 Mr. Sidney. Trust me, it's my only chance 
 to save the dishes ; and I tell you she might have 
 the whole kit and boodle of 'em and welcome, if 
 she'd been kind, or even decent to that little 
 angel. 'T ain't the silver and things I want. 
 It's to keep 'em away from her." 
 
 Phil could see that Eliza was trembling in her 
 intensity. She had shaken her head until she 
 had again loosened the grey locks about her 
 gaunt face. 
 
 " I don't care anything about anything to eat, 
 Mr. Sidney," she went on. "I can head up the 
 barrel myself in some kind of a way, but it's 
 got to go to the depot or else I don't, and my 
 berth's all paid for." 
 
 "How did you ever happen to be born in 
 New England?" returned Phil meditatively, 
 noting her clenched hands. "You and Bern- 
 hardt would have been rivals. Settle down 
 comfortably now. Make the tea and I'll 
 head up the barrel after you have used one 
 
 172
 
 Heirlooms 
 
 of these cups. If necessary, we'll ride on the 
 wagon." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Sidney, can we ride on the wagon ? " 
 exclaimed Eliza in a frenzy of gratitude. 
 
 Phil laughed. "Anyway, the barrel shall 
 leave here to-night. I '11 take one of my brushes 
 and do such high-art addressing that it will 
 follow you meekly to the island. Don't you 
 worry another moment. I guarantee it." 
 
 "Then it'll have to leave here before we do," 
 persisted Eliza. 
 
 "It shall leave here before we do. Now, are 
 you satisfied ?" 
 
 Eliza heaved a deep sigh of relief and pro- 
 ceeded to make the tea. 
 
 Phil was inclined to be impatient with her 
 fears ; but the next day, when he returned from 
 the Academy, Pat met him with a grin. 
 
 "Sure ye 're the divil of a bye," he said with 
 an expansive gesture. "I'll have to put on a 
 biled shirt every day to resave yer company. 
 'T was no less than the Queen o' Sheby came to 
 see ye this mornin' an' you not gone tin 
 minutes." 
 
 "A lady the one who was here yesterday? " 
 
 " Sure 't was no slip of a girl in a big hat to- 
 day. 'T was a queen, I 'm tellin' ye. She rolled 
 
 173
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 up in her motor car an' come here an' knocked 
 on me door, an' me without a collar on. She 
 was dressed in furs an' looked like she owned 
 the earth. 
 
 " ' I wish to see Mr. Sidney,' says she. 
 
 '"Thin ye '11 have to go farther, mum,' says I. 
 'Ye '11 find him at the paintin' school,' says I. 
 
 "She didn't need any paint herself, I'm 
 tellin' ye. She got rid in the face while she was 
 talkin'. 
 
 "'I'm his aunt,' says she, haughty-like, 'an' 
 as long as I'm here I'll see his room,' says she; 
 an' wid that she wint up them stairs like they 
 belonged to her. I heerd her movin' around, an' 
 I hurried to button me collar an' slick up. 
 Presently I dropped the comb, for I heerd her 
 comin' back. Before she'd got away down- 
 stairs, 'What have ye done wid the barrel?' 
 says she. 'What bar'l? ' says I. 'The wan Mr. 
 Sidney had here last night,' says she. Thin I 
 remembered there was wan. 'It moved out,' 
 says I, 'wid his company,' says I. 'What com- 
 pany ? ' says she, and her eyes snapped the way 
 I expected to hear her say, 'Off with his head!' 
 "A lady,' says I, 'wid a cat in a basket. 
 T was a reg'lar movin',' says I. 
 
 "She bit her lip, and muttered: 'Just like 
 174
 
 Heirlooms 
 
 her!' I heerd her plain, though she wasn't 
 lookin' at me no more. Take an auld man's 
 advice, me bye. Kape away from the Queen o' 
 Sheby for a while; an' if ye don't tell me what 
 was in that bar'l rollin' up an' down stairs like 
 a restless soul, I'll be havin' the nightmare, 
 
 sure." 
 
 Phil laughed, and shook his head. "The ways 
 of women, Pat," he said, " are so far beyond me 
 that I can't even guess." 
 
 "Can't guess what was in the bar'l? Tell me, 
 now, or ye '11 not git the key to the park nor 
 meet yer sweetheart." 
 
 "There were dishes and silver in that barrel, 
 Pat. Each of the women thinks she owns 
 them." 
 
 "I'd bet on the Queen o' Sheby," said Pat. 
 
 "You'd lose, then," returned Phil, running 
 upstairs.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE ARRIVAL 
 
 ELIZA BREWSTER reached Portland in time for 
 breakfast; and the hours she must spend before 
 the one afternoon boat started for the island 
 were embarrassing ones on account of Pluto. 
 She had a cup of coffee and an egg in the sta- 
 tion, and then lifted her heavy basket on the 
 car and rode across the city to the wharf. 
 
 Setting the cat at liberty she followed him 
 about, and held him on her lap, alternately, 
 until passengers were allowed to board the 
 steamer. The captain and purser were new to 
 her. She glanced about the cabin as she sat, her 
 arms clasped about the basket, out of whose 
 window Pluto's eyes were again glowering. 
 Eliza dreaded recognizing some one she knew; 
 but no recognition occurred, and she had ample 
 time in the two hours' ride to meditate on past 
 and future. Many years had fled since she last 
 saw Casco Bay. She and Mrs. Ballard had 
 spent a couple of weeks at Brewster's Island one 
 summer, but it had been their farewell to out- 
 
 176
 
 The Arrival 
 
 ings further from home than Coney Island. 
 She had not enjoyed the experience because of 
 wrathful resentment at the neglect of Mrs. 
 Fabian, then a bride; but Mrs. Ballard had 
 revelled in the natural beauty which feasted her 
 soul. Eliza evoked the memory now and smiled 
 grimly with satisfaction at the consideration 
 that the precious barrel was safely starting on 
 its journey after her. 
 
 She met her cat's green gaze through his 
 wire window. " If I set more value on my life 
 than I do, Pluto," she muttered, "I'd risk it 
 on Mrs. Fabian visitin' a certain stable this 
 mornin'. Then Mr. Philip '11 know, and he'll 
 forgive me." 
 
 Her heart warmed as she thought of the jolly 
 kindness of her late host; of his assiduity and 
 care for her comfort; of the milk he had fed to 
 Pluto, and the hot beefsteak to herself. 
 
 "That supper last night cost him a lot o* 
 money. I know it did!" she thought remorse- 
 fully, "but," with a revulsion of affectionate 
 concern, "I hope he'll eat good and not slight 
 himself when he's alone. There's such a lot of 
 him to nourish." 
 
 It was the sort of dismal weather which in- 
 spired the description, "No sun, no moon, no 
 
 177
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 stars, November!" and Eliza dreaded the re- 
 turn to her old changed home. Her heart beat 
 a little faster as the steamer ploughed along, 
 each minute bringing her nearer to that especial 
 hill rising from the waters of Casco Bay where 
 she first opened her eyes to life. Memories of 
 those dead and gone assailed her until her eyes 
 stung. 
 
 "I'd like to know," she thought sternly, "if 
 there's as ungrateful a critter in the universe. 
 S'posin' I was goin' to the island to nobody? 
 S'posin' I 'd been seen off in New York by no- 
 body ? That 's what I 'd expected to happen two 
 weeks ago." 
 
 Eliza gazed rebukingly at the steam radiator 
 in the middle of the cabin until her tears ceased. 
 
 She had not slept much in her unaccustomed 
 bed on the sleeping-car, impeded by the heavy 
 basket and her own hand-bag, and the fear of 
 how Pluto might behave at the stops; so the 
 boat ride seemed long, and it was with relief 
 that she at last heard the summons : 
 
 "Brewster's Island. Land from the lower 
 deck." 
 
 " Praise be ! " she thought. " I have n't got to 
 lug my things upstairs." 
 
 There were but few passengers to get off at 
 178
 
 The Arrival 
 
 this island, and but few persons standing in the 
 raw air on the wharf. 
 
 There was a lump in Eliza's throat as she 
 carried her burdens up the gangplank, but 
 through the mist in her eyes she saw a face she 
 recognized. It was lean, and smooth-shaven, 
 and had scarcely grown more lined in twenty 
 years. The man met her gaze with alert scru- 
 tiny and then looked beyond her for some one. 
 The gangplank was drawn in. 
 
 "James," said Eliza, when she had swal- 
 lowed. 
 
 The alert, searching eyes returned to her, and 
 looked, at first, without recognition. 
 
 "Don't tell me you don't know me, James," 
 added the traveller, trying to laugh. 
 
 "Why, Eliza Brewster, I was runnin' over 
 ye," said the captain in hasty amazement. 
 "You you've grown some spare, Eliza. Just 
 at first I did n't see who 't wuz." The kindly 
 speaker endeavored to conceal his dismay. 
 "Amazin' how a little flesh off or on '11 change a 
 body," he added. "Here, let me take your 
 bundles. Carriage right up here waitin' for us. 
 Mrs. Wright sent me down to meet ye. Kinder 
 homely day, ain't it?" 
 
 "That's a cat, James," said Eliza as he 
 179
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 seized the basket. "You see, I'm a real old 
 maid, travellin' with a cat." 
 
 "Well, it's all right, I s'pose," returned the 
 captain gallantly, as they walked up the wharf 
 toward the waiting carry-all; "but 't would 'a' 
 been more to the point if ye 'd brought somethin' 
 that was kind of a rarity on the island. We 
 could 'a' supplied ye with a cat fer every day in 
 the week, black, white, malty, whatever ye 
 wanted. Well! how ye been, Eliza?" 
 
 "I guess you can see," returned Eliza laconi- 
 cally. 
 
 "Well, well," said Cap'n James. He helped 
 her into the carriage and followed. "Git ap, 
 Tom. Mrs. Wright '11 fat ye up in no time. She 
 says you're goin' to stay with her." 
 
 "Yes, for a while I am." Eliza's eyes were 
 travelling over the familiar rolling landscape. 
 "How does she make out here?" 
 
 "Don't seem to complain none. Mr. Wright 
 has settled down like a round peg in a round 
 hole. Brewster's Island 's good enough for 
 him." 
 
 "My, my! How it's changed!" murmured 
 Eliza as one unexpected roof after another rose 
 into view. 
 
 "I s'pose that's so," agreed Captain James. 
 1 80
 
 The Arrival 
 
 "You can't stay away even from one o' these 
 islands a dozen years or so without seein* the 
 foot o' man encroachin'. It's good fer trade, 
 Eliza, good fer trade. Lots o' the roofs ye see 
 cover empty cottages now, but come summer 
 time the place swarms all right. The Fabians 
 got enough room to swing a cat in. Nobody can 
 come very near them; but the rest o' the is- 
 land 's pretty well dotted here and there." 
 
 " It don't look like the place I was brought 
 up," said Eliza. 
 
 They had reached the height of the road now, 
 and her wistful eyes fell on a cove which pierced 
 the island's side. Its softly rising banks were 
 studded with evergreen trees, standing black 
 above the black water. A threatening sky hung 
 sullenly over all. 
 
 "T ain't the place you was brought up," 
 returned Captain James cheerfully. "It's a 
 darned sight more prosperous place. While the 
 summer folks are restin' up, we're makin' hay 
 and cuttin' ice, as ye might say; and come fall 
 we get shet of 'em and go back to a quiet life. 
 No one can't say this ain't a quiet life, can they, 
 Eliza?" 
 
 Captain James reined in the horse before 
 taking the Foster Hill, and compassion showed 
 
 181
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 in his kindly eyes as he turned and watched 
 the grey face of his passenger. 
 
 "Eliza Brewster used to be a pretty girl," 
 was his pitiful thought. 
 
 She kept silence, her pale eyes resting on the 
 dark waters of the cove, austerely quiet in the 
 windless twilight. 
 
 "Feels like snow," said Captain James. 
 " S'pose you could snowball now, Eliza ? I know 
 when we were youngsters you could hold yer 
 own with any boy on the island." 
 
 "That's my one talent, James," responded 
 Eliza drily. "I can hold my own yet." 
 
 The captain smiled with relief at this sign 
 that some of the old spirit lingered behind that 
 haggard face. 
 
 " By cracky," he said, " I '11 bring up a bob-sled 
 after the first snow, and we'll toboggan down- 
 hill again, Eliza. Never say die. Git ap, Tom." 
 
 The carriage started up toward a long low 
 white house on the summit of the ridge. Four 
 bare Balm of Gilead trees stood sentinel before 
 it in a waste of withered grass. Beyond rose the 
 gnarled boughs of a struggling apple orchard, 
 beside which a tiny house with blank uncur- 
 tained windows stood beneath the forlorn guard 
 of two more gaunt bare trees standing ready for 
 
 182
 
 The Arrival 
 
 the conflict with winter winds, and bearing the 
 scars of many a battle past. Back of the little 
 building was a shallow field inclining downward 
 to the open ocean which held the island now 
 in its black, mighty embrace, creeping with a 
 subdued roar upon the cold rocky sands. 
 
 "Say, Eliza," said Captain James, as the 
 tiny deserted cottage came into view, "was we 
 afraid o' Granny Foster, was we? Say!" 
 
 The speaker turned and interrogated his 
 passenger with a twinkle. 
 
 A wan smile rewarded him. 
 
 "Afterward Jenny used it for chickens, Mrs. 
 Wright says," she returned. 
 
 "Yes; but there never was an old hen there 
 that come up to Granny Foster, you bet." 
 
 "How long ago does that seem to you, 
 James?" asked Eliza, after a pause. 
 
 "As if 't was yesterday," he responded 
 valiantly. 
 
 His memory was picturing the little girl in 
 plaid gingham and sunbonnet who could outrun 
 any boy on the island. That sunbonnet was 
 never in place, but always hung down Eliza's 
 back, the strings tied at her throat. Captain 
 James remembered to have thought there was 
 something very pleasing about that throat. 
 
 183
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 " It seems a hundred years ago to me," said 
 Eliza quietly. 
 
 "Whew! You must 'a* lived fast in New 
 York," returned Captain James. "That's an 
 awful record." 
 
 "Do you suppose I'll ever get used to the 
 stillness again, James ? I believe if a pin was to 
 drop in this grass you could hear it." 
 
 "Guess Nature '11 make rumpus enough for 
 ye before long," returned the captain. "You 've 
 never tried it up on this hill, Eliza. I guess 
 when the pebbles and rocks begin draggin' 
 around below there at high tide, you won't miss 
 the elevated trains none." 
 
 The horse was climbing slowly and patiently 
 as they talked, and a woman within the old 
 farmhouse was watching the ascent from a 
 window. Now the watcher disappeared, and 
 presently the house door opened and a figure 
 came out on the stone step. 
 
 "There's Mrs. Wright now. Git ap, Tom." 
 
 A gleam came into Eliza's pale eyes. It was 
 an attractive figure that stood there in dark 
 blue gown and white apron. The silver aureole 
 of hair framed a smiling face. Eliza grasped the 
 handles of Pluto's basket. 
 
 "To think that after all the years I should 
 184
 
 The Arrival 
 
 have a homecoming on this island!" was her 
 grateful thought. 
 
 "Here we are," called Captain James cheer- 
 fully as they approached; "little box, big box, 
 bandbox, and bundle, and the cat." 
 
 Mrs. Wright approached as the carry-all 
 stopped. 
 
 "Did you really bring a cat, Eliza?" she 
 asked, laughing. 
 
 -"Why, why," stammered Eliza, "it never 
 once came to me till this minute that perhaps 
 you don't like cats!" 
 
 "I like everything alive," was the response; 
 and the speaker looked it, as she received the 
 cat-basket, and Eliza stepped out on the grass. 
 
 "But does Mr. Wright?" inquired Eliza in 
 perturbation. Was it Pluto's destiny to become 
 a wild-cat after travelling by land and sea ! 
 
 That gentleman now appeared, stout and 
 with tousled hair, which suggested that he had 
 just risen from slumber. 
 
 "This is Eliza Brewster, Morris, and she has 
 brought us a pet," said Mrs. Wright pleasantly. 
 
 The host shook hands with the newcomer 
 with sufficient grace and eyed the basket curi- 
 ously. Captain James looked benignly on the 
 group. 
 
 185
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Eliza and me have been lookin' backward as 
 we came along," he said. "We used to race and 
 tear around this hill she says 't was a hun- 
 dred years ago, but don't you believe it. I'm 
 goin' to bring a bob-sled, first snow, and sail her 
 down the hill and make her think 'twa'n't 
 more'n yesterday that we did it last." 
 
 The smile on Eliza's haggard face but made 
 her fatigue more evident. 
 
 "Where's the trunk, Cap'n James?" asked 
 Mrs. Wright. 
 
 " I 'm goin' to fetch it right up. Git ap, Tom." 
 
 "Hurry in, Mrs. Wright," said Eliza, her 
 care-taking instinct asserting itself. "You'll 
 take cold." 
 
 "Not a bit of it," was the reply as the hostess 
 led the way in; "I never take anything that 
 does n't belong to me." 
 
 There was a cheerful fire blazing in the living- 
 room and Eliza was at once seated before it and 
 made to feel for a second time like an honored 
 guest. 
 
 "I'll let Pluto out, first thing, if you don't 
 mind," she said, and unfastened the basket. 
 
 Mr. Wright, his eyes indolently curious under 
 the rumpled grey hair, watched the proceeding. 
 
 "A Manx cat," he remarked as the prisoner 
 1 86
 
 The Arrival 
 
 leaped out. Pluto's green eyes blazed in the 
 moment that he stood and looked about him. 
 
 "Here, poor thing," said Eliza, "your trou- 
 bles are over. There's a fire such as you've 
 never seen in all your days." 
 
 But the outraged cat scorned the fire, scorned 
 even Eliza's caressing hand. Leaping from her 
 touch he descried the lounge; and thanking the 
 gods of his Egyptian ancestors that at last he 
 had reached a place where furniture accorded 
 hiding-places, he dashed into the darkest corner 
 its valance concealed. 
 
 "He's kind o' put out by all he's been 
 through," said Eliza apologetically. 
 
 Mr. Wright went to the couch and stooping 
 lifted the valance. 
 
 "Shall I get him for you?" he asked. 
 
 Two green eyes blazed at him from the dark- 
 ness and a vigorous spitting warned him away. 
 
 "Please just let him sulk a little while," said 
 Eliza hastily. Supposing Pluto should inaugu- 
 rate their visit by scratching the host! Awful 
 thought! "He's a real good cat in his way," 
 she added. 
 
 "Well, I'm certainly not invited under the 
 lounge," said Mr. Wright, straightening up. 
 
 " I did n't know anybody to give him to,"
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 went on Eliza, still apologetic. "Mr. Sidney 
 said he would have taken him if he'd known." 
 
 "Mr. Sidney. That's Mrs. Ballard's young 
 artist, is n't it?" asked Mrs. Wright, who was 
 boiling a kettle over an alcohol lamp at a tea- 
 table in the corner of the room. 
 
 "Yes we spent our last day with him in 
 his stable." 
 
 "His what, Eliza?" 
 
 "His stable. He's found one for a studio in 
 a real stylish place up in Gramercy Park where 
 the folks have gone to Europe. He's as tickled 
 as if he owned the whole big house." 
 
 "I'm glad he's found a place to suit him. 
 You like him very much, don't you, Eliza?" 
 
 "He could n't be any better," said Eliza sim- 
 ply. " We 'd 'a' had a real nice visit only the 
 Fabian children came in, Edgar and Kathleen." 
 
 "Oh, how are they?" asked Mrs. Wright with 
 interest. 
 
 "They seemed to be all right. I had n't seen 
 'em for years." 
 
 Mrs. Wright remembered Eliza's criticism of 
 Mrs. Fabian on the occasion of the call she 
 made upon her in New York. 
 
 "Just turn your head," she said, "and you 
 can see right from where you are sitting the fine 
 
 1 88
 
 The Arrival 
 
 cottage Mr. Fabian built here five years ago in 
 place of the old one his wife owned." 
 
 Eliza turned and looked out the window. Far 
 across the field and an intervening wall she 
 could see a house built of boulders, low and 
 broad, and obtained glimpses of its wide ver- 
 andas. 
 
 "It's a charming place," went on Mrs. 
 Wright, "and they have a delightful small 
 yacht. We became acquainted with them dur- 
 ing the last fortnight of Violet's stay in the 
 summer and she had a few fine sails with them." 
 
 Here the hostess rose and brought Eliza a cup 
 of fragrant tea. 
 
 The guest started. "The idea of your waitin* 
 on me, Mrs. Wright," she said humbly. 
 
 "Oh, making tea is fun, Eliza; and I want 
 you to drink that before I take you to your 
 room. This is n't any steam-heated apartment, 
 as you remember." 
 
 As she spoke, Mrs. Wright took a cup of tea 
 to her husband, who was sitting on the couch, 
 occasionally lifting the valance and peering 
 beneath, apparently vastly entertained by the 
 feline explosions with which Pluto, his sharp 
 teeth bared, spat at the intrusion. 
 
 "You won't put your hand under, will you, 
 180
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Mr. Wright?" asked Eliza anxiously. "Pluto's 
 so quick you 'd think 't was lightnin' struck you. 
 I'm ashamed of him with this good fire; but he 
 had an awful time with boys once and that's 
 where his tail went, and I don't feel to blame 
 him so much as if he had n't ever suffered any. 
 He's scarcely seen any men except Mr. Sidney. 
 He was clever to him always, but I don't know 
 as Pluto '11 forgive him now for shuttin' him up 
 in the basket. Oh!" Eliza heaved a sigh of re- 
 lief, "I'm so glad we've got here." 
 
 " I Ve put an oil-stove in your room, Eliza," 
 said Mrs. Wright, as all three sat sipping their 
 tea. 
 
 "That's real nice," returned Eliza. "Mr. 
 Sidney's got an oil-stove. I do hope he won't 
 smoke up everything. I tried to scare him, 
 told him he'd ruin his pictures." 
 
 "We shall watch to see him make the success 
 Mrs. Ballard expected," said Mrs. Wright 
 kindly, seeing that Eliza's heart was much with 
 her dear one's heir. 
 
 "He could n't make anything but a success," 
 responded Eliza. 
 
 Presently her trunk arrived and was carried 
 into the bedroom which Mrs. Wright had ar- 
 ranged for her. It was on the ground floor. All 
 
 190
 
 The Arrival 
 
 the second story of the house was to be left 
 unused in the cold weather. 
 
 In the evening Captain James came back a 
 third time to play checkers with Mr. Wright. 
 It seemed to be a daily custom; but soon after 
 the supper dishes were washed, Mrs. Wright 
 insisted on her tired guest getting into bed for a 
 long night's rest. 
 
 Pluto had leaped to the shed and thence 
 out into the black darkness of the cloud-laden 
 night. 
 
 Eliza went to the door to call him, but her 
 most ingratiating invitations were ignored. 
 
 "Oh, go to bed, Eliza," said Captain James, 
 who had just opened the checker-board. 
 "What ye 'fraid of? Traid he'll jump off the 
 bank? He ain't fond enough o' the water, I'll 
 bet. Go to bed and don't worry. Have n't ye 
 ever heard the song, 'The cat came back, he 
 could n't stay away ' ? " 
 
 "You know, James," said Eliza, ashamed of 
 her anxiety, but nevertheless too much affected 
 by it to seek her pillow while her pet was home- 
 less, "you know it's places, not people, with a 
 cat, selfish critters." 
 
 "Well," responded the captain, "he can't get 
 back to New York 'cause the walkin' 's so 
 
 191
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 poor." As he spoke, a dark shadow passed into 
 the light that streamed from the window. 
 
 With the quickest movement of her life, Eliza 
 jumped off the doorstep and pounced upon it. 
 It was Pluto, and she held him [under her arm 
 with a vice-like grip as she reentered the house. 
 
 "Good-night, all," she said, rather shame- 
 faced. 
 
 "Good-night, Eliza," said Mrs. Wright, who 
 had taken up a book. "Your lamp is lighted." 
 
 When Eliza had reached her room, she closed 
 the door and dropped the cat, who leaped 
 toward it, and finding exit hopeless, looked up 
 at her, night-fires gleaming in his eyes. 
 
 "See here, Pluto," said Eliza severely, "will 
 you stop actin' so crazy? I tell you we're home; 
 home. If ever two folks ought to be filled to the 
 brim with gratitude it's you and me. I'll give 
 you a chance to look around here in daylight 
 and get your bearin's, and then, if you don't 
 behave as if you had some sense, I '11 put you in 
 the chicken-house and you shall live there. Do 
 you hear that?" 
 
 She stooped to smooth the jetty fur to offset 
 in a measure her severity; but Pluto glided 
 from beneath her hand and took refuge beneath 
 the bed. 
 
 192
 
 The Arrival 
 
 "Well, of all the fools!" she soliloquized. 
 Nevertheless she knew what the temperature of 
 the room would be by the small hours, and, 
 taking an old knitted grey shawl from her 
 trunk, she threw it under the bed.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 MRS. FABIAN'S GIFTS 
 
 MRS. FABIAN had taken her daughter to the 
 train before she appeared to Pat's amazed eyes 
 at the stable door. Her chagrin at discovering 
 the removal of the barrel did not prevent her 
 recognition of the discomforts of Phil's north- 
 lighted chamber. Her nostrils dilated as she 
 looked about her at the rumpled pile of blankets 
 where the artist had evidently slept; the un- 
 lighted stove, and the open windows through 
 which came an eager and a nipping air. 
 
 "Poor boy! Poor boy!" she said to herself 
 repeatedly. 
 
 She had had an unpleasant fifteen minutes 
 with Kathleen in the motor, for the girl had 
 asked her directly if she intended to kidnap the 
 missent barrel, and she had replied in an em- 
 phatic affirmative. 
 
 "Would you rather have those old dishes 
 than Mr. Sidney's respect?" Kathleen asked 
 her. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian looked her surprise. "It sounds 
 194
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Gifts 
 
 very absurd to hear you call Phil 'Mr. Sidney,' " 
 she said, fencing. "Don't you remember your 
 Aunt Mary Sidney ? " 
 
 "Indeed, I do." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian's mind was of the sort which 
 associates social status indissolubly with 
 money. She had always felt that in winning a 
 millionaire for a husband, she had married 
 above her; and, shaking off her own humble 
 family connection wherever possible, had tried 
 to be as nearly all Fabian as circumstances per- 
 mitted. Her step-children had therefore never 
 been expected or requested to adopt her rela- 
 tives as their own. She now referred to the one 
 memorable visit of Phil's beautiful mother to 
 their island home, for Kathleen's persistent 
 formality in referring to the artist brought a 
 flush to her cheeks. 
 
 If Kathleen, the proud, the reserved, the self- 
 contained, were to pronounce upon the young 
 man unfavorably, she should have nothing to 
 say to the contrary, though she would continue 
 to be kind to Mary's child in private. 
 
 "I was only thinking," she continued, "that 
 if you still remember his mother in your 
 thoughts as your Aunt Mary, it seems rather 
 formal to tack a Mr. upon Philip. You know, 
 
 195
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Kathleen," Mrs. Fabian's flush deepened, "I 
 did not ask you to go to see him. I wanted 
 Edgar to go, for the looks of the thing, since 
 Phil is an entire stranger, and when I found he 
 never would go by himself, I was thankful that 
 you took him. You have been so so grouchy 
 ever since, that I 'm sorry you went; but I don't 
 see why you should blame me for it. It was 
 your own proposition." 
 
 "I know, mother," returned the girl; "and 
 if you will promise not to go over there and take 
 the tea-set I '11 not be grouchy." The dark eyes 
 lifted wistfully to Mrs. Fabian's astonished 
 countenance. 
 
 "What do you mean by my forfeiting Phil's 
 respect?" she asked. "Do you mean that he 
 wants them so much ? Why, they'll be smashed 
 or stolen in that rough place. They'll be no- 
 thing but a nuisance to him." 
 
 "They belong to Eliza," pleaded Kathleen. 
 
 "They belong to me!" retorted Mrs. Fabian 
 explosively. "Philip will see that at once." 
 
 Kathleen's lips closed. They had arrived at 
 the station, and she said no more; but she 
 departed with one consoling thought. Mrs. 
 Fabian had misdirected herself and Edgar the 
 day before. Perhaps she could not find the 
 
 196
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Gifts 
 
 place to-day; but that lady, as soon as the car 
 door was closed on her child, spoke through the 
 tube to the chauffeur. 
 
 "Drive," she said, "to the same place in 
 Gramercy Park where you took Miss Kathleen 
 yesterday." 
 
 , Soon she was face to face with Pat, and 
 presently standing in Phil's forlorn apartment. 
 The pieces of Mrs. Ballard's bedstead were still 
 leaning against the wall. 
 
 She pictured Kathleen the fastidious, the 
 dainty, perching on that pile of blankets; but if 
 the girl had despised the poverty-stricken art- 
 student, why was she so strenuous and persist- 
 ent as to retaining his respect? Why had she 
 left for the studio in the best of spirits, and 
 returned distrait, behaving in an absent- 
 minded manner ever since. 
 
 "Kathleen is a great deal more tender- 
 hearted than she appears. I believe she pitied 
 Phil so much it made her blue, and she could n't 
 bear to have me take away the only pretty 
 things he had. Well, it seems Fm not going 
 to!" 
 
 Mrs. Fabian even opened the closet door. A 
 few suits of clothes hung within, but the rest 
 was chaos; and in that chaos no welcome curves 
 
 197
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 of a barrel were to be found. Her alert eyes 
 made a hasty but comprehensive search of the 
 room. 
 
 "The boy drank his coffee out of that mug!" 
 she decided. "He is not in a mountain camp 
 and he shall not live as if he were. He shall see 
 that he is not dependent on Eliza Brewster for 
 the decencies of life!" 
 
 Then followed her descent upon Pat, her 
 catechism, and her magnificent departure. 
 
 Scarcely had Phil received the Irishman's 
 account of the visit and gone up to his room 
 that afternoon, when he heard a knocking on 
 the stable door; and when Pat had opened it, a 
 violent expletive from somebody. 
 
 Phil stood still to listen. Surely he could not 
 be connected with the present invasion, what- 
 ever it might be. His circle of acquaintance in 
 Gotham had come, done its best and its worst, 
 and departed for all time. 
 
 "Misther Sidney, sor," yelled Pat from the 
 foot of the stairs. " 'T is the barr'l come back. 
 Sure, and is it worth while to tin' it up, whin 
 it can't be at rest!" 
 
 " It is n't for me," called Phil, coming out in 
 his little hallway. "I refuse to live in such a 
 whirl of excitement." 
 
 198
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Gifts 
 
 "It is fer you, else all the money spint on 
 me eddication is gone fer nothin' and faith 
 there's more to follow," added Pat, in a tone 
 of such sudden surprise that Phil ran down- 
 stairs faster than he had gone up. A couch was 
 approaching the stable door. This was followed 
 by several large packages, upon one of which 
 was tied a letter, and at last a Morris chair 
 entered upon the scene. 
 
 "Ye 're the very soul of extravagance," said 
 Pat severely, when the delivery man had de- 
 parted. "If ye 're a poor art-shtudent, say so; 
 but if ye 're a prince in disguise, out with it!" 
 
 "This is a surprise party if I ever had one," 
 declared Phil slowly, staring around at the 
 objects. 
 
 "Poor art-shtudents don't buy iligant couches 
 with box springs long enough fer the lord 
 mayor!" said Pat, unconvinced. "What brings 
 ye to a stable whin yeVe the Queen o* Sheby 
 fer an aunt?" 
 
 At the word a light illumined the situation. 
 
 "For a fact, Pat! You did tell me my aunt 
 was here!" And in a flash Phil's mind reverted 
 to Kathleen with a sensation of gratitude. In 
 some way she had prevented the disagreeable 
 details of yesterday from angering her mother. 
 
 199
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Give me a hand up, Pat," he said. "I'll 
 guarantee this barrel will stay where it's put." 
 
 When they had all the articles upstairs, Phil 
 found himself possessed of a springy bed with 
 ample clothing for the night, and ample couch 
 cushions for day; well-selected dishes, alcohol 
 lamp and copper kettle, and a table on which to 
 stand them, a reading-lamp, and the easy-chair. 
 
 "What do you think of it?" he said, looking 
 about half-dazed. 
 
 "I think ye 're in the wrong box, bein* in a 
 stable," answered Pat, scratching his head in 
 perplexity. 
 
 "No, no," Phil laughed; "a box stall for me. 
 Wait till you see me scattering paint around 
 here." 
 
 "Faith, I have me doubts o' you," said Pat. 
 
 His Irish dislike of voicing the unpleasant 
 withheld him from expressing his thought; but 
 as he regarded Phil now, standing coatless, and 
 with tossed hair, looking about his transformed 
 apartment, he decided that he was viewing the 
 black sheep of a wealthy family, the masculine 
 members of which had left him to his own pov- 
 erty-stricken devices, while his softer-hearted 
 female relatives were surreptitiously ameliorat- 
 ing his hard lot. It was difficult to see Phil in 
 
 20Q
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Gifts 
 
 the role of black sheep, but Pat was sophisti- 
 cated and knew that appearances were deceit- 
 ful. 
 
 "Pat," said the perplexing tenant suddenly, 
 "I begin to believe I was born with a silver 
 spoon in my mouth. I'm the happiest fellow 
 in the world." 
 
 "Sure a man does n't say that till his wed- 
 ding-day," objected Pat. 
 
 Phil smiled confidently. "I told you I had 
 the girl; and she's the faithfullest of the faith- 
 ful." 
 
 "You bet she is," returned the Irishman de- 
 voutly. " Whativer you 've done, the gurr'l gets 
 her hands on you once '11 niver let go." 
 
 "Whatever I've done? What do you think 
 I Ve done ? " laughed Phil. "Here 's my mother. 
 Want to see her? " And he sorted several leaves 
 from the pile of sketches and laid them out on 
 the new table. 
 
 "It's swate she is !" said the Irishman, gazing 
 with interest; and, perceiving the expression in 
 the artist's eyes as he looked upon the pictures, 
 he spoke suspiciously: "She ain't the gurr'l 
 ye'retalkin'of?" 
 
 "No, no," returned Phil, "but she entirely 
 approves of the match." 
 201
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "That helps, ye know," said Pat benevo- 
 lently. " 'T is well to get airly settled in life, 
 thin if" he made a lenient gesture "if 
 yeVe played too many cards or made any 
 other mistakes, ye soon lave thim behind ye and 
 there's little time wasted." 
 
 That evening Phil called up the Fabian house, 
 and, finding that Mrs. Fabian was to be at 
 home, soon presented himself in that lady's 
 boudoir. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian, in a becoming negligee, sat 
 before an open fire; a soft lamp at her elbow, 
 and a French novel in her hand. 
 
 "You know the naughty things in a French 
 story are so stimulating, Phil," she explained, 
 when he commented on her book. "You 
 would n't think of reading the same things in 
 English; but you get so curious to know what 
 it 's all about, that you work, and study, and I 
 find it very helpful. Excuse my not rising to 
 greet you. I've had an exhausting day; so as 
 Edgar was n't coming home, and Mr. Fabian 
 had to attend a banquet, I had my dinner 
 brought to me here." 
 
 "I'm sure it is I who have exhausted you," 
 said Phil, drawing his chair close to the lux- 
 urious downy nest which was embracing her 
 
 202
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Gifts 
 
 plump person. "I don't know what to say to 
 you, Aunt Isabel," he added gratefully, regard- 
 ing her as she half-reclined, a living example of 
 what can be accomplished by beauty-doctor 
 and accomplished maid. 
 
 She placed her white hand, with its perfect 
 rosy tips, for an instant on his, then she patted 
 the folds of her violet gown. 
 
 "Now, don't say a word, my dear," she re- 
 turned, complacency lighting her countenance. 
 Her husband had little time for compliments, 
 Edgar was uniformly ungrateful, and Phil was 
 very handsome. She remembered how charm- 
 ing had seemed to her the relation between him 
 and his mother; and she felt a longing to evoke 
 something like that affection for herself. 
 
 "But, indeed, I shall say a great deal," he 
 declared. "You 've turned my camp over there 
 into the lap of luxury. I go on accepting things, 
 everybody seems in a conspiracy to prevent my 
 having any hardships, so I suspect I 'm going to 
 catch them at the school." 
 
 "Are n't the teachers agreeable?" 
 
 "Well, I've been there only a few days, but I 
 
 see already that doctors disagree there as they 
 
 do elsewhere. One comes and tells you you're 
 
 all right, and the next declares you're all 
 
 203
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 wrong; but I'm after the fundamental training 
 I've never had, and I'm going to get it if I 
 make their lives a burden to them." 
 
 "I don't pretend to know anything about 
 art, Phil," said the hostess complacently, "and 
 I 'm not going to add that I know what I like, 
 either, so you need n't smile at the fire; but 
 from those sketches of yours that I saw out at 
 the mine I could see that you were bound to 
 accomplish something if you had free rein. 
 Kathleen was delighted with them." 
 
 "I was much pleased to meet Miss Fabian," 
 said Phil. 
 
 "Dear me, why should you children be so 
 formal!" exclaimed his hostess. "'Miss Fa- 
 bian'! 'Mr. Sidney'! It's ridiculous when you 
 consider your mother and me more like 
 sisters than cousins as we are." 
 
 Philip bit his lip. The description struck him 
 as diverting, considering the lapse of years 
 during which his mother had heard nothing 
 from this cousin. 
 
 "I shall be very glad if Miss Fabian will let 
 me know her better," he said. 
 
 "It's a very, very strange thing, Phil," went 
 on Mrs. Fabian, shaking her waved head and 
 gazing at the fire, "to be a step-mother. I 
 
 204
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Gifts 
 
 should have always said that environment was 
 more powerful than heredity; but I've had 
 those children almost from babyhood," the 
 speaker challenged Phil with impressive eyes, 
 "and yet I look at them, yes, I assure you, I 
 look at them as a hen might look at the ducks 
 she had hatched." 
 
 Phil saw that he was intended to respond, so 
 he changed his position and made a soft, inar- 
 ticulate exclamation. 
 
 "Those children," declared Mrs. Fabian, 
 "would probably both claim that they under- 
 stood me from a to z; but I am frank enough to 
 state that I understand neither of them. Now, 
 I'm going to tell you, Phil, that I am hanging 
 great hopes upon your influence over Edgar." 
 
 "My dear Aunt Isabel!" ejaculated the visi- 
 tor. Phil's gratitude to this relative did not 
 blind him to her characteristics, or as to how 
 her idle and fashionable life had reflected in the 
 bringing-up or coming-up of her son. 
 
 "Now, don't say no, Phil," she went on. "I 
 don't expect that you found any kindred spirit 
 in Edgar, but I 'm going to be frank, his father 
 is so out of patience with him that he is- severe, 
 and I am hoping that the sight of your economy 
 will show Edgar that something beside extrava- 
 205
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 gance can bring happiness; and the sight of 
 your industry will rebuke his idle tastes." 
 
 " I can't conceive of myself as an example to 
 the young," laughed Phil uncomfortably. "I 
 half suspected yesterday that you had been 
 holding me up before Edgar. There are n't any 
 comparisons to be made between a gilded youth 
 and a painter, and I assure you it is no lofty 
 principle that makes me care little where I live 
 and eat. It is only a desire to do a certain thing, 
 so intense that it dwarfs every other need." 
 
 "He has overpowering desires, too," said 
 Mrs. Fabian bitterly; " but it is to go yachting 
 and play polo and drink champagne." She 
 sighed. "I suppose I have n't known how to be 
 a good mother," she added with dejection, "but 
 there," her voice grew suddenly argumenta- 
 tive, "look at Kathleen ! I Ve brought them 
 up alike, but she is the other extreme. She has 
 no taste for pleasure. She's a natural student 
 and bookworm; and what I am to do with her 
 when she graduates, Heaven only knows. I 
 shall insist upon her coming out," added Mrs. 
 Fabian virtuously. "She must go through the 
 same form as the other girls in her set, and it 
 may be that a reaction will set in and she will 
 find a normal satisfaction in it. It will break my 
 
 206
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Gifts 
 
 heart if she drops out and becomes one of these 
 poky oddities. Well," another sigh, "I 
 must n't borrow trouble. Were you surprised 
 at my early morning call at your room, Phil? I 
 hoped I should be early enough to catch you." 
 
 " I was surprised ; but it was a lucky visit for 
 me, even though I was not there." 
 
 "I'm glad you're pleased with those little 
 comforts; but I shall be frank, it was to try 
 to get my grandmother's silver that I went. If 
 you had known you were working against me, 
 Phil, you would n't have helped that crazy 
 Eliza to carry the things away." 
 
 "They belong to her, she tells me," said Phil 
 simply. " Aunt Mary seemed to think you were 
 living in an embarrassment of riches anyway." 
 
 "Then you should have shipped them to your 
 mother. It's quite indecent that a servant 
 should have them. It reflects upon your mother 
 and me. Can't you see that, Phil?" 
 
 He stirred his broad shoulders uncom- 
 fortably. 
 
 " I 'm glad you are n't going to blame me for 
 it anyway," he returned, looking at his hostess 
 with a frank smile. "After all they're only 
 things, you know. The important part is how 
 Aunt Mary felt about them, is n't it ? You 
 
 207
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 know probably what sort of thoughts she had 
 about you in her last days." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian looked at him with quick 
 suspicion as he rose to go. Was he rebuking 
 her in spite of his smile? 
 
 "Some people marry into a family," she 
 said after the pause. " Some marry out of one. 
 I did both. I married a man with children, and 
 a big establishment. I simply married out of 
 my family. I did n't have time to attend to 
 both, and any right-minded person can see 
 where my duty lay!" 
 
 The virtuousness in the speaker's face and 
 voice were so enveloping that they created an 
 atmosphere in which Phil was able to make his 
 adieux without further embarrassment.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 MRS. FABIAN'S DINNER LIST 
 
 FOR the next two months, Phil, to his entire 
 satisfaction, had practically no social life. One 
 or two of his fellow students found their way to 
 the stable studio, envying him loudly when 
 they viewed it, but for the most part he suc- 
 ceeded in keeping his castle to himself. Aunt 
 Mary's easel found a good situation.beneath the 
 north light, and the evenings were spent in read- 
 ing works calculated to help him on his way. 
 
 Occasionally the satisf actoriness of his lamp or 
 his easy-chair would cause him to start in a panic 
 and begin to figure how long a time had elapsed 
 since he had called on his benefactress ; usually 
 discovering that it was high time to go again. 
 
 Frequently he declined invitations from Mrs. 
 Fabian to dine, giving the excuse of incessant 
 occupation. Once in a while, on the occasion of 
 these duty calls, he saw Edgar, and the latter 
 prided himself on the subtle implication of 
 injury which he infused into the perfunctory 
 courtesy of a host. 
 
 209
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Phil saw it, and, while he was amused, he 
 gave Edgar some credit for not having carried 
 out the threat to tell his mother how Phil had 
 guarded her dignity with Eliza. 
 
 " So there are some things too petty for him, 
 after all," thought Phil carelessly; but he sus- 
 pected and was grateful for Kathleen's inter- 
 vention. 
 
 When Edgar was not in evidence, Phil rather 
 enjoyed an evening with his aunt. It gave him 
 an opportunity to talk about his mother, and 
 Mrs. Fabian could tell him events of their girl- 
 hood. She soon found that no occurrence in 
 which Mary Sidney had figured was too trifling 
 to bring the light of close attention into the 
 young fellow's eyes. 
 
 "Dear me," she said one night when they 
 were alone together, and she had been en- 
 tertaining him with reminiscence, "I won- 
 der how your mother made you love her 
 so." 
 
 There was a sincere wistfulness in her tone 
 that touched Phil. He laughed with some em- 
 barrassment, throwing a glance around the too- 
 gorgeous room. 
 
 "I don't believe she went for to do it," he 
 said. " I contracted the habit early." 
 
 210
 
 Mrs. Fabian 's Dinner List 
 
 "But Edgar was only five years old when I 
 married his father," said Mrs. Fabian plaint- 
 ively. 
 
 "We did n't have any money," said Phil. 
 "Perhaps that helped. Mother and I were pals, 
 you see; had to be. She could afford only one 
 maid." 
 
 "It's true I was very, very busy," admitted 
 Mrs. Fabian thoughtfully, with the return of 
 her ever-ready tone of virtue. " I had the best 
 nurses and governesses. They could n't speak a 
 wcjrd of English, and I did n't neglect the 
 children. I made it a point to hear them say 
 their prayers every night that I was n't going 
 out." 
 
 Phil's clasped finger tips were pressed to his 
 lips and he did not reply to this. He admired 
 Mrs. Fabian's exquisite costumes, and now he 
 dropped his twinkling eyes to the hem of her 
 gossamer gown. 
 
 "How often do you write to your mother?" 
 pursued Mrs. Fabian. 
 
 "I'd be ashamed to tell you," he answered. 
 
 She sighed. "It's beautiful," she declared; 
 again wistful. "I suppose she has told you 
 about our dear old dull island." 
 
 "Brewster's Island? I don't remember her 
 
 211
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 talking of it; but Eliza has spoken of my mother 
 having been there." 
 
 At the mention of her humble enemy Mrs. 
 Fabian's nostrils dilated. "Eliza!" she re- 
 peated indignantly. "Every time I think of the 
 impudence of that woman " she paused, at a 
 loss for words. 
 
 " I suppose the island was named for Eliza's 
 family," hazarded Phil. 
 
 "I suppose so. You may call nearly every 
 islander 'Brewster,' and seldom go wrong." Mrs. 
 Fabian continued: "Edgar made a joke of the 
 barrel affair, but Kathleen put on tragedy airs 
 at the idea of my trying to get my own. Kath- 
 leen knows so much more than her mother, you 
 understand. She knows so much more about 
 everything than she will ten years from now. 
 It's rather painful. Well, of course you did n't 
 realize what you were doing in helping Eliza 
 spirit the things away. I'm glad the creature 
 has gone, for your sake. She would have been a 
 dreadful bore to you as a part of Aunt Mary's 
 legacy." 
 
 "I feel very kindly toward Eliza," said Phil. 
 Aunt Mary's letter was against his heart where 
 it always lay. "She did too much for Aunt 
 Mary for me ever to forget it." 
 
 212
 
 Mrs. Fabian 's Dinner List 
 
 "But you did n't know Aunt Mary." 
 
 "Not until she had gone. Then she revealed 
 herself to me in a letter. I seem to have seen 
 her at her patient work." 
 
 "Yes, and Eliza has probably told you that 
 I neglected her." Mrs. Fabian colored and 
 looked at Phil defensively. 
 
 "Yes," he answered simply. 
 
 "It's a wonder she did n't make you hate 
 me. I know what a virago the creature can 
 be." 
 
 "I like," said Phil, "I like that saying, 
 1 Yesterday is as dead as Egypt.' I like to feel 
 that the only enemy a man can have is himself." 
 
 " I 'm glad you don't hate me, Phil," returned 
 Mrs. Fabian, again plaintive. "I have enough 
 troubles. 'Qui s'excuse, s'accuse,' and I shall 
 not try to explain to you why I saw so little of 
 Aunt Mary; but it is beyond belief that a com- 
 mon creature like Eliza should dare to sit in 
 judgment on a person in my position." 
 
 "Eliza is not a common creature," said Phil 
 quietly. 
 
 " I see. Her devotion is all you think of. We 
 won't talk of her, then. What are you going 
 to do in the summer, Phil?" 
 
 "Work!" he answered, smiling. 
 213
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 'Not under that stable roof. I won't permit 
 
 it." 
 
 "Then I'll take the road. There's nothing I 
 know better than how to be a tramp." 
 
 At this juncture Mr. Fabian came in from his 
 library. He was a smooth-shaven man, com- 
 fortably stout; and the stern lines on his fore- 
 head and about his mouth softened at sight of 
 Phil, who rose to greet him. 
 
 "What of the mine?" asked the newcomer, 
 seating himself. 
 
 "Oh, father's digging away," returned Phil. 
 "He probably tells you more than he does me." 
 
 Mr. Fabian drew his brows together. 
 
 "Not sick of the picture business yet?" he 
 asked, regarding the young man curiously. 
 
 Phil shook his head and laughed. He knew Mr. 
 Fabian's disapproval of his chosen profession. 
 
 "I was just about telling Phil," said Mrs. 
 Fabian, "that he must visit us at the island 
 next summer." 
 
 Mr. Fabian nodded cordially. "Care for 
 sailing?" he asked. 
 
 " I never had a chance to know. Horses and 
 tramping and camping have given me all my 
 outings so far." 
 
 "Then you must come. We'll have a cruise. 
 214
 
 Mrs. Fabian 's Dinner List 
 
 I've only a small yacht, for I prefer to run it 
 myself with a few friends." 
 
 "That sounds attractive, but I shan't 
 indulge, I think." 
 
 "Why, what sort of a painter is it who 
 does n't do marines?" asked Mrs. Fabian. 
 
 "Yes, I know," returned Phil, smiling. "I'll 
 do them at Coney Island." 
 
 When he had taken his departure Mrs. 
 Fabian turned to her husband. 
 
 "Is n't it a shame," she said, "for a boy like 
 that not to have any money?" 
 
 "No," responded her husband. "It's in his 
 favor. The shame is that a fine husky chap like 
 that should give himself over to paint-pots. I 'd 
 make a position for him in the office if he'd 
 come. I wish I had a son like that." 
 
 When her husband made this sort of refer- 
 ence, Mrs. Fabian was glad that she was not 
 Edgar's own mother; yet since she had known 
 Phil she had never entirely escaped a conscious- 
 ness that Mary Sidney would have bent the 
 twig in Edgar's childhood in a manner to have 
 produced a different inclination in the tree. 
 
 As Christmas approached, Mrs. Fabian de- 
 tained her son one evening as he was about to 
 leave the house. 
 
 215
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Edgar, you are always in such a hurry," she 
 complained. " I never can catch you for a word 
 except at table when the servants are about. 
 Sit down for five minutes." 
 
 The youth paused reluctantly. " I must keep 
 my engagements," he said, shrugging his 
 shoulders, "and since the Administration has 
 shut down on my using the car at night, I have 
 to live by my wits ; in other words, sponge on 
 other people's motors as much as possible." 
 
 "You know, dear," said Mrs. Fabian, "your 
 father did n't do that until we found, even- 
 ing after evening, that we could never have the 
 car ourselves. Somehow or other, Edgar, you 
 manage very badly. You always rub your fa- 
 ther the wrong way." 
 
 Edgar's chest in his dress shirt rose very 
 high. "I'm not the cringing, begging sort," he 
 returned. "Unless a thing is offered me freely 
 I don't care for it." 
 
 In the last month he had affected a short, 
 pointed mustache, and this he now twisted with 
 a haughty air. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian's sense of humor was latent, but 
 
 she smiled now. "Sit down a minute, dear," 
 
 she said. "It won't detain you, for you may 
 
 use the car to-night. Your father has just 
 
 216
 
 Mrs. Fabian 's Dinner List 
 
 'phoned that he is obliged to attend a sudden 
 meeting of directors, so I have to give up the 
 opera unless you will go with me?" 
 
 Edgar regarded his mother's charming toilet 
 appraisingly. "I don't mind," he said gra- 
 ciously, "if you will ask Mrs. Larrabee. I was 
 going there to call to-night." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian's brow clouded. "She is so con- 
 spicuous," she said persuasively; "I wish you 
 did n't go there, Edgar. Why are all the men 
 daft about her when there are so many sweet 
 young girls so much better worth their atten- 
 tion?" 
 
 "Shall I see if she is disengaged?" asked 
 Edgar alertly. "If she cares to go I can come 
 back and talk with you." 
 
 "Oh, yes," Mrs. Fabian sighed resignedly; 
 and Edgar ' disappeared, presently returning, 
 a self-satisfied smile curving the little mus- 
 tache. 
 
 "She was gracious, evidently," remarked 
 Mrs. Fabian. 
 
 "Says she was saving this evening for me 
 anyway, and will be delighted," said Edgar, 
 seating himself. "She says she is glad it is a 
 Caruso night, for she can prove to me that I 
 ought to be on his side of the footlights." 
 217
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "That's the way she does it, is it?" returned 
 Mrs. Fabian. 
 
 "Oh, she means it," declared Edgar quickly. 
 "She's the most sincere creature alive. Every- 
 body knows that." 
 
 "Where is Mr. Larrabee? I've never seen 
 him yet. Does anybody see him?" 
 
 "His clerks, I fancy," returned Edgar, with 
 his careless, gleeful smile. 
 
 "It's really a pity the woman's so well con- 
 nected," said Mrs. Fabian. "She is insolently 
 daring. Did you tell her you were taking me?" 
 
 " I told her you were asking her to be so good 
 as to accept an impromptu invitation; that you 
 had but just found that you could go, your- 
 self." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian sighed again. "Well, Edgar, 
 then I have earned a few minutes of your time. 
 I 'm going to give a dinner for you and Kathleen 
 while she is at home for the holidays. I thought 
 of Christmas night, with a little informal dance 
 afterward; and I want you to help me decide on 
 the list." 
 
 "Mrs. Larrabee?" suggested Edgar, twisting 
 his mustache complacently. 
 
 "Certainly not," returned his mother, with 
 energy. "This is to be just for your and Kath- 
 
 218
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Dinner List 
 
 leen's young friends a simple Christmas 
 merry-making." 
 
 "Couldn't you let me off?" asked Edgar, 
 with his most blase, man-of-the-world air. 
 
 "Don't be absurd, Edgar Fabian. Have you 
 no interest in helping to make your sister's 
 holidays pleasant?" 
 
 "My dear mother," protested the young 
 man, "in order to make Kath's holidays 
 pleasant, all you need to do is to give her a pair 
 of blue spectacles for a Christmas gift, and in- 
 vite a few Columbia professors to engage her in 
 light conversation. If I should send her roses, 
 she would only analyze them and reel off the 
 learned names of their innards." 
 
 "Very well; I am giving you an opportunity 
 to suggest some names if you care to. Of course 
 I shall ask Philip Sidney." 
 
 Edgar shrugged again. "Do you suppose he 
 has any evening clothes?" 
 
 "And Kathleen suggested Violet Manning," 
 went on Mrs. Fabian. "Do you remember 
 Mrs. Wright's niece? Her life must be a dull 
 
 one." 
 
 "So it is to be a dinner party of derelicts," 
 said Edgar; "a charity affair." 
 
 "Kathleen is always thoughtful," said Mrs. 
 219
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Fabian reproachfully. "As it is to be on 
 Christmas Day I don't know that trying to 
 give pleasure to some people who don't have 
 much usually would be so far out of the way. 
 I'm not sure about Miss Manning myself. 
 Kathleen has suggested once or twice that, as 
 we saw quite a little of her at the island, it 
 might be well to show her some courtesy here; 
 but, as I say, I 'm not quite sure. What I am 
 sure of is that I will not allow you to speak of 
 Philip Sidney slightingly in my presence." 
 
 Edgar looked up in some surprise. 
 
 "A derelict, indeed," she went on. "I wish I 
 might ever hope to see you bring the look into 
 your father's eyes that they hold when he sees 
 Phil." 
 
 "You choose a fine way to make me like 
 him!" answered the youth; but beneath his 
 carelessness was a twinge which proved that the 
 words went home. " I remember Miss Manning 
 now. She sailed with us a few times." 
 
 "Yes, and she lives here with some girl stu- 
 dents in a bachelor-maid way, and teaches " 
 
 "I remember the whole thing!" interrupted 
 Edgar. "She dances." 
 
 "What! The stage?" asked Mrs. Fabian. 
 
 "No; some sort of school business; more on 
 220
 
 Mrs. Fabian 's Dinner List 
 
 the gymnastic order. Of course, I remember 
 her. She did a jig once on the boat." 
 
 "Oh, I don't think we'd better ask her," 
 exclaimed Mrs. Fabian hastily. 
 
 "Yes, put her down," said Edgar. "If we're 
 going into the charity business, I greatly prefer 
 worthy girls who can jig; and for the rest, you 
 and Kath fix it up. Christmas is a sort of a lost 
 night anyway. I don't mind." 
 
 And with this gracious cooperation Mrs. 
 Fabian was fain to be content. Although she 
 felt somewhat dubious about sending an invi- 
 tation to Violet Manning, she concluded from 
 the vivacity in Edgar's countenance, as mem- 
 ory awakened, that the purchase of his interest 
 was worth the risk. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian did not care for sailing, and she 
 had but a vague memory of an inoffensive girl 
 who arrived at the island as Mrs. Wright's' 
 niece. She hoped Miss Manning's propensity 
 for jigging would not be the cause of any shock 
 to the carefully nurtured buds who were 
 Kathleen's friends.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 IT was shortly after this that a miniature riot 
 broke out in the tiny apartment where Violet 
 Manning and her two friends made a home; and 
 it was on the subject of Christmas, too. 
 
 The year before, Violet had spent the holi- 
 days with Mrs. Wright in Boston; but this year 
 the loving letter which she now held in her 
 hand invited her cordially not to come to the 
 island. 
 
 "I want to see my little girl," wrote Mrs. 
 Wright, "but I would rather risk the sort of 
 days you will spend among the many pupils 
 who are sure to ask you than to let you take the 
 expensive journey to the island, so bleak and 
 cold as it is, and with nothing to repay you at 
 this end but a hug from Aunt Amy." 
 
 Violet read this aloud, and her two friends 
 listened attentively. 
 
 "I told you," said Roxana, the teacher and 
 the eldest, "that Mrs. Wright would n't let you 
 come. I shall stay here with you." She spoke 
 
 222
 
 Christmas 
 
 firmly. Her face had the lines of one who al- 
 ways spoke firmly. 
 
 "Then I shall stay, too," said Regina, the 
 art-student. 
 
 "Then you'll make me miserable, girls!" 
 ejaculated Violet energetically, folding her 
 letter back in its envelope. She was sitting on 
 the table, a favorite perch not to be despised in 
 that box of a room where she often said one 
 must either be under the table or on it. She 
 swung both her slippered feet and her blonde 
 head. "Roxy Rex " she added beseech- 
 ingly, "do you want to ruin my holidays?" 
 
 "Rex can go, it's very foolish for her to talk 
 about staying, when she can go sleighing in the 
 country and study the shadows on the snow," 
 said Roxana. 
 
 "What's the use of being a bachelor girl if 
 you can't have any independence?" inquired 
 Violet, her blue eyes, and full, pretty lips look- 
 ing stormy. 
 
 "The baby bachelor can't have everything 
 she wants," said Roxana. "You're the baby 
 bachelor. Rex may do approximately as she 
 pleases, but I am the only one entirely inde- 
 pendent. Rex still waves her hair. I stopped a 
 year ago; just forgot it. That was the rubicon, 
 
 223
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Have you heard of the old colored mammy who 
 deplored the failure of her dear but mature miss 
 to marry? She said to her consolingly: 'Never 
 mine, honey, I'se known some old maids who 
 settled down right happy and contented when 
 they stopped strugglinV I knew when I forgot 
 to wave my hair that I'd stopped 'strugglin'." 
 Roxana rocked gently. It was the only safe 
 way to rock in that apartment. " So when that 
 time comes, Violet, you will see that you have 
 earned independence." 
 
 "Oh, Rox, don't be so unkind," pleaded 
 Violet. "I've had ever so many invitations for 
 Christmas dinner from parents. I knew my 
 small admirers slapped them into it, so I re- 
 fused; but I give you my word that if you will 
 go ahead with your Christmas plans, I will 
 write to one of the most ardent, and Cinderel- 
 la's coach will be nothing compared to the 
 limousine that will be sent for me Christmas 
 morning, and nothing will be lacking but the 
 prince to make the story complete. If you don't 
 promise, I '11 sulk all the holidays, and I won't 
 stay with you either. I '11 go skating in the park." 
 
 Roxana smiled meditatively. 
 
 "Prince!" repeated Regina ecstatically. 
 "That reminds me of mine again." 
 
 224
 
 Christmas 
 
 "Oh, help!" exclaimed Violet. "I've re- 
 minded her of Mr. What's-his-name. Rex, if 
 you'll promise to go ahead with your holiday 
 doings, I '11 let you tell us again how He came 
 into the class-room first, and how He chose the 
 best light, and how His sketches were always 
 stunning, and how hard it was for you not to 
 sketch Him instead of the model, and I'll let 
 you show me the head you did of Him on the sly, 
 and you shall tell us again how you plotted for an 
 introduction and how you did n't get it, and " 
 
 "Oh, hush up," said Regina good-naturedly. 
 "How about that Mr. Fabian you met at the 
 island ? How about the careless elegance of his 
 manners? How about that wonderful, heart- 
 rending, angelic voice in which he sang on 
 moonlight sails ?" 
 
 "Dear me!" said Violet, swinging her feet 
 and smiling with mischievous eyes, "what a 
 wonderful memory you have! I had forgotten 
 all about him." 
 
 "It shows what a superior being he considers 
 himself that he has allowed you to," retorted 
 Regina, with curling lip; "after the way he 
 behaved at the island " 
 
 "I never said he behaved," interrupted 
 Violet mildly. 
 
 225
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Well, he kept on asking you to go, every 
 time they sailed, and gave you every reason to 
 think he was friendly." 
 
 "That's summer friendship," returned Vio- 
 let, but her cheeks took a deeper rose. The 
 shoe pinched. 
 
 "Well, it's settled," said Roxana. "Rex pro- 
 ceeds to the farm and studies snow shadows. I 
 stay here, and sleep as late as I wish in the 
 morning. Now, be calm, Violet. It is n't as if I 
 had a home to go to. It would n't be all holiday 
 to visit, and be on my best behavior, and not be 
 sure which fork to use nor how large tips I 
 ought to give the servants, nor " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " interrupted Violet. " It will do 
 you all the good in the world to sit down in the 
 lap of luxury for a while; to live in large rooms, 
 and drive in large motors, and eat large dinners, 
 and lounge on large divans, and sleep in large 
 beds; and you're going, Rex, you're going." 
 
 There was something like tears in the stormy 
 blue eyes, and Regina heard with relief the 
 postman's whistle. 
 
 "Go down and see if we have anything, 
 will you, Violet? I'm fixed so comfortably, and 
 it's nothing to hop off the table." 
 
 Violet obeyed, and the other bachelors saw 
 226
 
 Christmas 
 
 her press a very small handkerchief to her eyes 
 as she went. 
 
 "You 'd better go, Rox," said Regina in a low 
 tone. "I know just how she feels." 
 
 "If it weren't for Christmas day I would; 
 but I am sure Violet won't accept a pupil's 
 hospitality for more than an hour, just so she 
 can tell us she went; and the baby shan't spend 
 Christmas eve and Christmas night alone. 
 Even if she won't speak to me, I shall stay. It's 
 the lesser of two evils. Honestly, I would enjoy 
 a lazy time at home here with no papers to 
 correct. The trouble is to get her to believe it." 
 
 Here Violet returned; her face and bearing so 
 laden with dignity that Roxana coughed lest 
 she laugh. The baby bachelor handed a post- 
 card to Regina, then took a very straight- 
 backed chair. To sit on either of her customary 
 thrones, the table or the floor, would be too 
 much concession to her mutinous companions. 
 She opened the letter in her hand, and as she 
 read, a curious change altered her countenance. 
 The wintry stiffness of her expression began to 
 thaw. A springtime warmth appeared in her 
 eyes, and, spreading to her lips, relaxed their 
 corners. At last she looked up. The sparkle of 
 summer seas shone in her glance. 
 227
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "You can go, girls," she said; "it is all right. 
 Mrs. Fabian has asked me to dinner on Christ- 
 mas, with a dance afterward and to spend the 
 night. Now, then!" She challenged Roxana 
 triumphantly. 
 
 "How about Christmas eve?" inquired the 
 latter inflexibly. 
 
 "You tiresome old dear, the Settlement has a 
 tree and I '11 attend it, and spend the night with 
 one of my class who is interested there." 
 
 "Then I'll go," agreed Roxana mildly. 
 " Fled is the rosy dream of sleeping till noon and 
 watching you skate in the afternoons ; and I will 
 ask Mrs. McCabe across the hall to keep an eye 
 on you." 
 
 The invitation came as a welcome event to 
 Philip Sidney as well. Aunt Isabel had been 
 uniformly kind and motherly to him. The 
 thought of a solitary Christmas, or one spent in 
 a glittering restaurant, made him wince even 
 with all the allurements of his easel and his 
 books ; so at last Mrs. Fabian received a grateful 
 reply to a dinner invitation. 
 
 The roses that came with his card on Christ- 
 mas morning pleased her also, more than her 
 extravagant gifts. While Phil was dressing he 
 thought again of Kathleen. He had never seen 
 
 228
 
 Christmas 
 
 her since the Sunday afternoon visit. He felt 
 he could put up with Edgar's airs and graces 
 through a dinner for the sake of seeing Kathleen 
 again. 
 
 "I wonder if she'll smoke a cigarette to- 
 night," he thought, while he adjusted the dress 
 tie he had bought for the occasion : adjusted it 
 very carefully, for the tie was a unique posses- 
 sion. If he made a botch of it he could not go 
 to the dinner. The girl never came to his mind 
 except when her mother spoke of her; but now 
 that he was to be her guest he recalled agree- 
 ably how womanly and sweet had been her 
 manner to Eliza on that autumn day before the 
 stable had turned into a studio. 
 
 It was Kathleen who suggested sending the 
 car for Violet. It was not the traditional Christ- 
 mas of dry sparkling snow under a radiant 
 moon, but a day of slush and clouds, and Kath- 
 leen was not of those owners of motors who 
 believe that every one else has one, too. Her 
 acquaintance with Violet was slight, but she 
 knew she was a teacher and a very young one. 
 She fancied that dollars were precious with her 
 as yet. 
 
 So Violet rolled up to the brown-stone house 
 on Christmas evening in state, arrayed in her 
 
 229
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 best and full of anticipation. Mrs. Wright's 
 gift to her had been a small gold pendant hold- 
 ing a turquoise matrix, and this she wore on a 
 slender chain around her throat, where it shone 
 between the deep blue of her eyes and the pale 
 blue of her gown. 
 
 Kathleen's greeting to her had a ring of 
 friendliness through its gentle formality. Vio- 
 let's involuntary thought was that she might 
 have been less formal, for, although there was 
 nothing chilling in her manner, it seemed to 
 suggest the difference between the bachelor 
 maid doing light housekeeping in a hemmed-in 
 apartment and the heiress of this stately 
 mansion. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian was kindly patronizing, and 
 held Violet at her side that she might meet the 
 other dinner guests. 
 
 Edgar Fabian was one of the last to enter the 
 drawing-room. Violet noted that he was not 
 alone, but although his companion dwarfed him 
 she saw no one but the well-set-up, exquisite 
 youth with the shining hair who had been the 
 companion of her moonlight sails. Her heart 
 quickened and her color deepened. 
 
 "I'm behaving exactly like Rex," she 
 thought impatiently. Really there had been 
 
 230
 
 Christmas 
 
 no reason why Edgar Fabian should take pains 
 to find her in the city or show her any courtesy, 
 after the return from the island, but in her heart 
 of hearts she had expected he would; and it 
 showed no proper pride in this same heart to 
 give an undignified bound at the present junc- 
 ture. What was the idiotic thing bounding for 
 anyway ? 
 
 This query she put to it as Edgar approached 
 his mother; and now Violet saw that his com- 
 panion was a tall man whose evening clothes 
 could not lessen the breadth of his shoulders, 
 and whose poetic face was lighted with alert, 
 observant eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian greeted the stranger warmly, 
 and presented him to Violet as her nephew, Mr. 
 Sidney; while Edgar's cool eyes swept the girl's 
 face for a brief moment without recognition. 
 
 "You remember Miss Manning, Edgar," 
 said his mother; and then the sudden gleeful 
 smile relieved the youth's face of its supercil- 
 iousness. 
 
 "What a difference feathers make to the bird, 
 Miss Manning!" he ejaculated. "Upon my 
 word, I think I must have believed you al- 
 ways wore a jolly little red sweater and hat. 
 Were n't those corking sails we had ? Awfully 
 
 231
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 glad to see you again." And he bore Phil off 
 to meet his friends. 
 
 "I think, Miss Manning," said Mrs. Fabian 
 impressively, "that in meeting my nephew you 
 have seen a future celebrity. He is wonderfully 
 talented." : 
 
 "How pleasant," murmured Violet, the idiot 
 heart having given one record-breaking bound 
 and then retired into its usual self-erTacement. 
 
 "Yes, he is a painter. Only a student as yet, 
 of course. I think he has the sort of originality 
 that longs to spread its wings and fly; but he 
 holds himself down to foundation work in the 
 most level-headed way." 
 
 Violet's eyes followed the easy movements of 
 the athletic figure. 
 
 "Studying art, did you say?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I did n't quite get his name?" 
 
 "Sidney. Philip Sidney." 
 
 Stars began to twinkle in Violet's eyes at her 
 sudden enlightenment. What would Rex say? 
 
 Kathleen Fabian's observing eyes found time 
 to follow Phil, too. He wore his dress clothes 
 more like one accustomed to inhabit palaces 
 than stables. She saw girlish eyes brighten 
 as Edgar personally conducted the Westerner 
 
 232
 
 Christmas 
 
 about the room. When she planned to sit next 
 him at dinner, it had been with a thought of 
 protection; as Edgar had been lavish of prophe- 
 cies of the probable gaucherie of the cowboy. 
 She also had believed it quite likely that the 
 mining engineer did not possess a dress suit; 
 and Edgar had drawn cheerful pictures of the 
 way his arms and legs would probably protrude 
 from any which he might rent; but it was quite 
 evident now that Phil had a good tailor and had 
 not spent all his evenings in a mountain cabin. 
 
 Kathleen had suggested to her brother that 
 he be seated beside Violet Manning, as there 
 would be no other man present whom she had 
 ever seen, but Edgar vetoed that plan. 
 
 " Let the two derelicts go in together," he had 
 said. " I never did see any sense in this business 
 of social philanthropy. Let the lonely people 
 take care of each other. They will if you only 
 have the cleverness to bring them together. 
 Then you're spared all the boredom yourself, 
 and kill two birds with one stone." 
 
 "My dear," his mother had said, "Miss Man- 
 ning is an orphan, alone in the city, and you 
 were quite friendly with her at the island " 
 
 "Yes, but I don't want to talk about the 
 island all the evening. There are some widows I 
 233
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 would consider; but when it comes to orphans 
 orphan teachers count me out." 
 
 He smiled the gleeful smile, and Kathleen 
 sighed, and allotted him to the maiden of his 
 choice; one who knew and hated the enthralling 
 Mrs. Larrabee, and who, he averred, had enough 
 "pep" not to bore him. 
 
 Violet had somehow expected to be placed 
 with Edgar at dinner, and argue with herself 
 as she would, the surprise of finding herself with 
 a stranger instead gave her the sensation of a 
 slight; but she was cheery and natural, and her 
 escort, a youth with long lashes and a sallow 
 complexion, found the sea-blue eyes intelligent 
 and sympathetic repositories for his mournful 
 rhapsodies upon Kathleen Fabian's charms. 
 
 She was sitting across the table from them 
 beside Philip Sidney. Aqua-marines glistened 
 water-blue about her bare throat, and filmy 
 lace clung to her satin shoulders. Her simple 
 coiffure was in contrast to the puffs and curls 
 that danced airily on the other girlish heads. 
 Kathleen's was straight hair, but fine, thick, 
 and lustrous. The simplicity of her aspect gave 
 one to know that with her "the colors seen by 
 candlelight" would look the same by day. 
 
 "It is n't every one who understands Miss 
 
 234
 
 Christmas 
 
 Fabian," the long lashes announced to Violet, 
 with the implication that he was in the inner 
 circle. "She's what I call a subtle girl a 
 mysterious girl. Those jewels suit her. That 
 liquid, elusive play of light, as the moon- 
 light sparkles on the water, is like her moods, 
 gentle, and and remote. I often think Miss 
 Fabian lives in a world of her own. One can't 
 always be sure that she hears what one is say- 
 
 ing." 
 
 "I know her very little," returned Violet, 
 "but she does seem a very thoughtful girl." 
 
 "Who is that chap with her? the big 
 fellow?" 
 
 "That is her cousin, Mr. Sidney." 
 
 "Her cousin? I never saw him before." 
 
 "I fancy he's not a New Yorker," said 
 Violet. "He is here studying art." 
 
 "H'm," ejaculated Long-Lashes. "He doesn't 
 look the part. He does n't wear artistic hair." 
 
 "No," agreed Violet. "There is no studied 
 disorder in his appearance. Miss Fabian seems 
 to hear everything he says," she added de- 
 murely; "and why, if he is her cousin, does she 
 call him Mr. Sidney?" 
 
 Long-Lashes, who had looked cheered at the 
 information of relationship, gloomed again. 
 235
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "I'm sure I have it right," went on Violet. 
 "Mrs. Fabian told me he was her nephew." 
 
 "Oh," returned her companion, "but Mrs. 
 Fabian is Kathleen's step-mother." He looked 
 across at the pair anxiously. " She has adopted 
 him, though, that's evident. Her wits have n't 
 gone wool-gathering since we sat down." 
 
 When the young people returned to the 
 drawing-room they found a charming trans- 
 formation had taken place. The spacious floor 
 was bare, garlands of evergreen, holly, and 
 mistletoe were wreathed in all possible posi- 
 tions, and a majestic Christmas tree sparkling 
 with the tiny electric bulbs of these sophisti- 
 cated days stood in a recess. Its boughs were 
 gay with favors for a german. 
 
 An orchestra, concealed behind palms in the 
 hall, played a Christmas carol as the couples 
 entered. 
 
 "There are Christmas fairies even in 
 Gotham," said Phil to Kathleen. "Ah," he 
 thought, "poverty may be no disgrace, but 
 what a convenience is money!" "Before we go 
 any further," he added aloud, " I want to thank 
 you, Miss Fabian, for the honor you paid the 
 stranger in a strange land by allowing me to 
 take you out to dinner. I want you to know 
 
 236
 
 Christmas 
 
 that I appreciate it in a gathering of your own 
 friends." 
 
 Kathleen's calm eyes met his. She was 
 glad he could not know that she had expected 
 to champion his crude appearance in a gath- 
 ering where clothes went far to make the 
 man. 
 
 "I never thought of doing anything else," 
 she returned; then added, smiling, "You know 
 I owed you hospitality." 
 
 "Brave girl," returned Phil, "to dare to refer 
 to that ill-starred day. I should never have had 
 the courage." 
 
 "Do you ever hear from Eliza?" asked 
 Kathleen. 
 
 "I received one letter after her arrival. It 
 was mostly about her cat, Pluto. She said he 
 acted like an imp of darkness." 
 
 "Why wouldn't he saddled with that 
 name?" returned Kathleen. 
 
 Phil watched the aqua-marines sparkle and 
 dissolve on the whiteness of her neck. 
 
 "Your mother did to my stable what the 
 brownies have done here while we were dining. 
 Did she tell you?" 
 
 "She told me she bought you a few things." 
 
 "That is a modest way to put it. Will you 
 237
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 come to tea with her some day this week and 
 see for yourself?" 
 
 "I shall be glad to. I've not been able to 
 remember you as being very comfortable." 
 
 The carol ceased. The odor of evergreen was 
 fresh as the forest itself. The orchestra began 
 a waltz. 
 
 "I wonder if he can dance," thought Kath- 
 leen, in her ignorance of the West. The evening 
 clothes were promising but she had her doubts 
 of Terpsichore west of the Rockies. She little 
 knew that in dress clothes or sweater the cow- 
 boy leads the world in dancing. 
 
 The music was irresistible and in a moment 
 she was floating away in the waltz. 
 
 "Dear me!" she thought with a mixture of 
 consternation and satisfaction. " I Ve taken the 
 best of everything ! " 
 
 Edgar cast a glance after them. "A duck 
 to the water," he thought. A touch of nature 
 makes the whole world kin; and when Phil 
 arrived to-night, that unique dress tie of his had 
 suffered damage from his overcoat. Edgar with 
 lofty hospitality had supplied the lack. It had 
 given him a foretaste of self-satisfaction as 
 patron of the arts, and he now felt quite bene- 
 volently glad to find that Phil was not going 
 
 238
 
 Christmas 
 
 to entangle Kathleen's feet, as he sailed off 
 with his own partner, humming the waltz in 
 her appreciative ear. 
 
 Long-Lashes danced as he talked, with poetic 
 meditation. Violet had no objection to him, but 
 she was conscious of Edgar's every movement. 
 If he did not ask her for the next dance she 
 would not give him any, even if she had to 
 sprain her ankle. 
 
 However, the catastrophe was averted, be- 
 cause he did ask her for the second, and, joy of 
 joys, she could not give it to him; for as she 
 and Long-Lashes crept near Kathleen and Phil 
 during the waltz, Phil, prompted by his partner, 
 raised his eyebrows in a request. 
 
 "The next, Miss Manning?" 
 
 She nodded assent; and so it was that Edgar 
 took the third; and as soon as he joined her 
 asked her opinion of Phil's dancing. 
 
 "Of course you're authority," he added 
 tactfully, as they started. 
 
 "Oh, I quite forgot shop while I was with 
 him," said Violet coolly; "beside, I don't teach 
 ballroom dancing." 
 
 Edgar suspected that he had, in his own lan- 
 guage, put his foot in it; so he used his universal 
 panacea and sang the waltz in his partner's ear. 
 
 239
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Pretty, is n't it? Say, you can dance, Miss 
 Manning, if you don't know how to teach it. 
 Watch me favor you in the german." 
 
 "Mr. Sidney is a perfect dancer," she said. 
 
 "He looks it. I'm mighty glad he does n't 
 fall all over himself. He's a trifle too big to 
 make that safe; and being a wild Westerner I 
 did n't know just what he would do. Do you 
 ever do a jig nowadays?" 
 
 "Occasionally in the way of business." 
 
 " Say," exclaimed Edgar with enthusiasm, as 
 he led her safely among the thickening couples, 
 "would you do one to-night if I clear the 
 floor?" 
 
 "Certainly not," returned Violet, laughing. 
 
 "But you did at the island." 
 
 "I only jig on a vessel's deck," said the girl. 
 
 "And I have to wait till next summer?" 
 
 "Poor, poor fellow!" Violet's eyes looked up 
 into his pathetically. He had forgotten what 
 very nice eyes they were, and what jolly little 
 stars danced in their depths. 
 
 " I 'd like to clog, and I believe I 'd be a good 
 one. Do you teach it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then I'll enter the class!" declared Edgar 
 with enthusiasm. 
 
 240
 
 Christmas 
 
 "You're just a tiny bit over-age," said 
 Violet. "Fifteen's the limit." 
 
 "Then I'll come to your home, that's what 
 I'll do. I'll take private lessons." 
 
 "Impossible. There's no place to clog there 
 except on the table." 
 
 " But that 's what I should prefer to any other 
 place." 
 
 "I'll teach you next summer," said Violet, 
 "and take my pay in song." 
 
 "That's proverbially cheap," said Edgar. 
 
 "Yes, ' a song,' perhaps," returned Violet, 
 "but I shall exact dozens." 
 
 Edgar tossed his head with the gleeful smile. 
 
 "It's a bargain," he declared.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 SPRING 
 
 SPRING came all too soon for Philip after his 
 gloriously solitary and absorbed winter. 
 
 One Saturday morning, even from his sunless 
 north window, it proclaimed itself and would 
 not be denied. The tint of the sky, the scanty 
 glimpses of waving green, and the jubilant song 
 of birds in the park, all spoke of the annual 
 miracle. 
 
 "Just the day for a sketch," thought Phil, 
 and buttoning his collar, he went to the head of 
 the stairs and called Pat. 
 
 "Here," responded the Irishman, "and sure 
 I wish it was there, thin." 
 
 "Where's that?" 
 
 "Annywhere in the country-side where I 
 could n't see a pavement the day." 
 
 "Just what I was thinking, Pat. I'm going 
 to borrow the key to the park again. I wonder if 
 you'd go over to Streeter's on Fourth Avenue 
 for me. You remember the place you bought 
 the framed Madonna for your sister. I'd like 
 
 242
 
 Spring 
 
 you to get a package of materials they were to 
 have sent me yesterday. I don't want to miss a 
 minute of this weather for a sketch, and I can 
 be making my coffee while you're gone." 
 
 "Sure I will. I've got to go that way for a 
 pair o' boots annyway." 
 
 "If I get a good sketch," called Phil after 
 him, "you may look at it for nothing." 
 
 Pat was privately not at all sure that it would 
 be worth looking at, even if the artist thought it 
 good. He had seen a number of Phil's efforts 
 which looked like nothing to him, and the art- 
 ist's explanation that they were merely impres- 
 sions did not bring them within Pat's compre- 
 hension as being worth the paper they spoiled. 
 Nevertheless his devotion to the artist was 
 steadfast and he hastened on his errand. 
 
 Phil ate his breakfast, and primed two can- 
 vases for the Monday pose. Then his Streeter 
 package having arrived, he hurriedly trans- 
 ferred a few pieces of charcoal and some pans 
 of water-color to his sketch-box, and was off 
 down the stable steps into the mellow light of 
 spring, the park key in his hand. 
 
 "What a morning!" he thought, as he passed 
 through the gate and snapped the lock after 
 him. At different times when he had visited 
 
 243
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 this enclosure with his scratch-pad, he had 
 made mental notes of advantageous points for 
 sketching, and he now moved straight to a 
 chosen spot. 
 
 The gravel path winding between the patches 
 of fresh spring green crunched under his feet 
 and reminded him of the tar and pebble roof he 
 had put on a barn in Montana. How different 
 this life! How glorious! If only his mother 
 could sit beside him while he sketched this 
 morning. 
 
 The day was joyous as his spirit, and the park 
 was soon alive with children and their capped 
 and aproned nurses, truly distinguished in their 
 right of eminent domain, while outside the 
 hedges and railings sauntered those with no 
 proprietary rights in Gramercy Park. A child 
 often peeped through the fence at coveted dan- 
 delions, like a little peri at the gates of paradise. 
 
 Phil worked away, paying no attention to the 
 more inquisitive youngsters who dared from a 
 well-bred distance to stretch and strain for a 
 look at what was being done in art. 
 
 He was hastily washing in a soft rose grey 
 that was eventually to take the form of several 
 charming old brick houses. They had dormer 
 windows above and fascinating iron grilled 
 
 244
 
 Spring 
 
 balconies with long drawing-room windows and 
 great masses of spring flowers growing in front 
 of the basements. 
 
 Philip was working with an intensity of in- 
 terest and absorption, and suddenly he threw a 
 quantity of color and water from his brush with 
 a quick backward motion which sent a flood 
 over one of the youngsters who had ventured 
 quite near. A shout of glee went up from the 
 others of the group and he turned quickly to see 
 what had happened, just as a girl, not capped 
 or aproned, seized the little color-target, and 
 wiped the moisture from the boy's face with her 
 handkerchief. 
 
 "You, Miss Manning!" cried the artist, "and 
 I can't spare time to rise and fall on my knees in 
 apology." 
 
 "Ernest is the one who should apologize," 
 said Violet, laughing, "but you know an artist 
 out of doors is common property." 
 
 "Of course," returned Phil, washing away 
 industriously. "Come here, little chap. I'm 
 sorry I doused you. Come and see what I'm 
 doing no, not the rest of you. I can't have a 
 heavy weight on my sword arm." 
 
 Upon this, Ernest, who had been scarlet 
 under his companions' amusement, gave them 
 
 245
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 a glance of superiority and moved to Phil's 
 side. 
 
 "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the 
 object in the sketch which had been the cause of 
 the present smooches on his blouse. 
 
 "What?" asked Phil encouragingly. 
 
 "That big tall thing that looks kind of rough, 
 like a rock or something." 
 
 "Why, that's the Metropolitan Tower. See 
 it there over those roofs?" Phil directed the 
 boy's gaze with his brush-handle. 
 
 "Does n't look much like it, does it?" 
 
 "Oh, you wait and see." 
 
 "Are those going to be trees there?" 
 
 "Yes; and those spots are going to be filled 
 with red and pink and yellow and white. You 
 know what a tulip is ? Those are the tulip beds." 
 
 Ernest leaned comfortably against the green 
 park bench. "What are you going to make the 
 picture for?" 
 
 "Enough questions," said Violet brightly. 
 She was standing away a little, but mounting 
 guard over her small charge and taking notes of 
 the sketch for the benefit of Rex. Now she 
 stepped forward and took the child's hand with 
 intent to lead him away; but Phil looked smil- 
 ing at the boy, and said : 
 
 246
 
 Spring 
 
 " I 'm going to try to paint this picture so that 
 when any one studies it he will get its message 
 and feel as I do to-day." 
 
 The child looked back into the man's eyes, 
 and discerned a fellow child. 
 
 "Is it your birthday?" he asked gravely. 
 
 Phil laughed softly. " I should n't wonder," 
 he answered. "What made you think so?" 
 
 "You look happy and you said " the 
 boy did n't finish, and Phil nodded. 
 
 "Did you ever see a chrysalis, Ernest? Well, 
 I think I've been expanding all winter. I feel 
 sort of wingy this morning. This is a good sort 
 of day for a chrysalis to burst, don't you think 
 so? Perhaps this is my birthday and you 
 guessed it before I did." 
 
 "Come, Ernest, we must go," said Violet, 
 smiling. "We're a load on the butterfly's 
 wings." 
 
 "Do you live here in the park, Miss Man- 
 ning?" 
 
 "No. I spent last night with a friend here, 
 and one of the maids fell ill, so Ernest and I 
 thought we could walk about a bit and smell 
 the liiacs." 
 
 "I don't want to go away," said Ernest. "I 
 like to see him paint." 
 
 247
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Just move some of that paraphernalia from 
 the end of the bench and sit down, can't you, 
 Miss Manning?" suggested Phil. "I piled it 
 there in self-defence, but it's for show. Keep 
 away from my arm, old man, and you may 
 watch me all you like." 
 
 "Come here, Ernest, you can see just as 
 well," and Violet, seating herself, drew the child 
 against her knee. 
 
 The scent of moist lilacs was in the air. 
 
 "There's a robin," cried Ernest "oh, two I 
 Look." 
 
 "Quiet, don't frighten them," said Violet, as 
 the bright-eyed birds ran beneath the bushes. 
 
 "Put them in, won't you, Mr. " began 
 
 the child eagerly. 
 
 "That is Mr. Sidney, Ernest," said Violet. 
 "It is time you were introduced and this is 
 Ernest Tremaine, Mr. Sidney." 
 
 "I'll make you a sketch of the robin in a 
 minute." 
 
 One of the birds ran toward the seated group, 
 and stood a moment, proud and high-chested, 
 his sleek head gleaming in the sun. Phil 
 laughed to himself as his busy hand worked. 
 
 "What are you laughing at?" asked the little 
 boy, 
 
 248
 
 Spring 
 
 "Cock robin. He reminded me of somebody 
 I know. Don't you think he looks very pleased 
 with his red vest and his smooth feathers?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the child. "Perhaps it's his 
 birthday, too." He laughed, delighted that his 
 big friend was amused. 
 
 "Perhaps; and see there! He has found a 
 birthday present." 
 
 The robin had suddenly pounced upon a worm 
 and was digging it from its earthy stronghold. 
 
 Violet had to put her hand over the child's 
 mouth to still his mirth. The bird was sitting 
 on his tail, claws dug in the ground as he leaned 
 back, dragging at his prey. 
 
 "How good of the robins to stray away from 
 Central Park, and bring spring to all these little 
 places," said Violet. "I heard one last night. 
 Perhaps this is the very fellow. Their notes 
 always make me think of links in a chain, link 
 after link, alike, yet so fresh. Would n't it be 
 great, Ernest, if this pair are hunting for a place 
 to build here, and would take a tree that you 
 could see from your windows, and you could 
 watch them with an opera-glass?" 
 
 "Do you think they will ? " The child looked 
 up into the golden-green of tender new leaves 
 through which the mellow light was sifting. 
 249
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "We must ask them to hurry up," said Vio- 
 let, "before the foliage grows heavy and makes 
 it hard to watch them." 
 
 "What news from the island, Miss Man- 
 ning?" asked Phil. 
 
 "Oh, spring is peeping in on them, too, once 
 in a while. Aunt Amy says their hill will soon 
 be white with strawberry blossoms, and blue 
 with violets." 
 
 "And what of my friend, Eliza Brewster? I 
 believe you told me you have never seen her." 
 
 "Aunt Amy always speaks of her in her 
 letters. She has been a great comfort to them, 
 so helpful and kind." 
 
 "Mrs. Fabian will have it that I am to see 
 this wonderful island." 
 
 "You should go. It would be paradise for an 
 artist." 
 
 "And how about yourself?" asked Phil. 
 "You also have an aunt and a home on that 
 green mound I hear about." 
 
 "Oh, I'm going for the whole summer," 
 replied Violet. " I had two weeks last year, and 
 it created an inordinate appetite." 
 
 "Then you knew the Fabians there." 
 
 "Yes, a little. In two weeks one does n't 
 make much headway with a girl like Kathleen." 
 
 250
 
 Spring 
 
 "Is she difficult for a girl, too?" asked 
 Phil. 
 
 "Oh, yes at least for a new girl. She re- 
 minds me of a series of locked doors. You suc- 
 ceed in unlocking one, and the small room 
 within merely leads to another door. You must 
 strive to unlock that, and you succeed only to 
 find another waiting. Such wholesome, clean, 
 airy rooms, but small always small. She is 
 fascinating to me, perhaps for that very reason. 
 Did you ever notice that even her hair is 
 reserved?" 
 
 Phil smiled, as his busy hand worked. 
 "Christmas night is the only time I ever saw 
 her with her hat off ," he answered. " I 'm afraid 
 you're too subtle for me." 
 
 "Oh, you'll see," said Violet; "an artist 
 could n't help seeing in the daytime. What 
 color do you think it is?" 
 
 "Dark brown." 
 
 " I knew you would say that. Wait till you 
 see her in the sunshine. It's almost red; and 
 that's just like her. Even her hair keeps every- 
 thing to itself as long as it can." 
 
 Phil laughed. "Quite different from brother, 
 eh?" 
 
 "You mean that he is frank?" asked Violet, 
 251
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 with a perceptible indrawing of her own 
 frankness. 
 
 "Well, that's a mild word for it," answered 
 Phil. "I don't know Edgar's family crest, but 
 the inscription should read, freely translated, 
 * I give myself away.' ' : 
 
 The speaker laughed at his own folly, and 
 glanced up for sympathy. The baby bache- 
 lor's full lips were grave and her eyes a little 
 dark. 
 
 "I like people to be frank," she said briefly. 
 
 Phil drew his own lips together in a noiseless 
 whistle and his eyes twinkled at the Metropol- 
 itan Tower in the sketch. 
 
 "Keep off the grass," he mused. "I thought 
 you said reserve fascinated you," he remarked 
 aloud, mildly. 
 
 "One thing I don't like Mr. Fabian to re- 
 serve," said Violet, "and that is his voice." 
 
 "Great, is n't it?" agreed Phil. "I was glad 
 he sang for us Christmas night." 
 
 "Oh, I supposed you had heard him many 
 times. If he were my cousin I would give him 
 no rest." 
 
 "He's not mine, you see. I'm only a step- 
 relation, and such a long step!" 
 
 Violet bit her lip and looked at the speaker 
 252
 
 Spring 
 
 reflectively. She felt there was: no rhyme or 
 reason in his amused expression. 
 
 "Then, that is why you have n't seen Miss 
 Kathleen's hair in the daylight," she said. 
 "Have you discovered her locked doors?" 
 
 "She let me into her ballroom, at Christmas, 
 and I think I must have been so pleased with 
 that I did n't try to get any further." 
 
 "I see," returned Violet. "Well, if you go to 
 the island you'll have a chance to explore. 
 Of course your experience with her may be 
 different from mine. Perhaps an artist will 
 have the open sesame to her doors. I'm not a 
 bit intellectual. I have to dance my way into 
 people's confidence, or I don't get there." 
 
 " I hear you teach that very pretty art." 
 
 "She teaches me," put in Ernest, who was 
 tired of being left out of the conversation. " I 
 can dance a jig." 
 
 "Bully for you," said Phil. "Go ahead, right 
 here on the path." 
 
 "Oh, I can't without any music." 
 
 "There's the music." Phil pointed with his 
 brush-handle to a lofty branch where the robin 
 was pouring forth linked sweetness, long drawn- 
 put. 
 
 f( The pebbles are too roily," said the child. 
 253
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "You said you'd make me a picture of the 
 robin." 
 
 "So I did." 
 
 Phil pulled toward him another block of 
 paper and swiftly washed in the green of the 
 lilac bush and its purple pendants. Before it, 
 on a little stretch of green sward, grew the 
 robin, high-chested, alert. 
 
 "How proud he looks!" said the child, 
 delighted. 
 
 "Yes, he is saying: *I own the earth, and the 
 worms therein.' " The artist laughed to himself. 
 " ' If a worm shows his head, I gobble him up ! 
 and I can sing as beautifully as I gobble. The 
 world stops to watch and listen. I am cock 
 robin ! Look at me ! ' : 
 
 Artist and child laughed together as Phil 
 handed over the wet sketch to the eager little 
 hands. Violet's eyes were glued to it. She was 
 wondering if later she could make a surrepti- 
 tious purchase of it for Rex. 
 
 "I had heard of you before Christmas," she 
 said. "One of my housemates goes to your art 
 school. Regina Morris." 
 
 Phil shook his head. " I Ve not met any of 
 the girls. Are you a housekeeper?" 
 
 "Three of us live together in a tiny apart- 
 254
 
 Spring 
 
 ment. I wish you might come to see us some- 
 time." 
 
 Phil looked up with his frank smile. " I '11 call 
 on you at the island if you'll let me, and if I 
 come that last is such a big If, though Mrs. 
 Fabian is determined." 
 
 "Oh, then you'll go. I've seen enough of 
 Mrs. Fabian to know that." 
 
 "Then it must be but for a week or two. I 
 must n't stay where I can't work." 
 
 "You'll stay," nodded Violet. "You'll live 
 under a rock if necessary and catch fish for 
 food." 
 
 "Are you so enthusiastic?" 
 
 " Is n't everybody ?" 
 
 "Nobody, that I have heard. Eliza spoke of 
 it like facing grim death. Edgar says it gives 
 him the 'Willies,' whatever they may be. Aunt 
 Isabel goes because her husband wants to sail." 
 
 "Did Mr. Fabian say it gave him the f Wil- 
 lies'?" asked Violet, her cheeks rose and her 
 eyes dark again. "Why does he go, then?" 
 
 "I did n't ask him; but a bare hill lying in a 
 wet fog does n't sound inviting even if one may 
 occasionally catch a glimpse of the sea. You 
 know the sea and I are strangers." 
 
 "Did Kathleen talk to you about it?" asked 
 255
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Violet, the hurt spot in her pride still smarting, 
 as memory showed her pictures of waves spark- 
 ling in moonlight, and song that turned the 
 scene into enchantment. 
 
 "No, I believe we never mentioned the sum- 
 mer. She talked to me of college and I talked to 
 her of my one dissipation of the autumn, an 
 evening over there at the Players' Club," 
 Phil nodded over his shoulder toward the club 
 windows, /'and the wit and wisdom I heard." 
 
 "I judge you have friends in the park," said 
 Violet. 
 
 "Yes, I have a work-room over here," re- 
 plied Phil vaguely. His wits were about him 
 when he contemplated the disconcerting pos- 
 sibility of Ernest's sturdy little legs finding 
 their way up his stable stair. 
 
 "I want to show this to mother," said the 
 child, gloating over his sketch. Phil had used no 
 anaemic colors in that. The lilacs were of a gen- 
 erous purple, the robin's vest a royal red. When 
 he had thanked the artist and they had parted, 
 Ernest prattled of his treasure as he walked on 
 beside Violet. 
 
 "He's a proud bird," he said, half-soliloquiz- 
 ing after his kind. "He wants the world to 
 listen when he sings ; and his eyes are so bright, 
 256
 
 Spring 
 
 when he sees a worm coming along he gobbles 
 him quick, and then he looks prouder than 
 
 ever." 
 
 Violet's thoughts were busy, and somewhat 
 gloomy. Edgar had spoken patronizingly to her 
 of the big Western artist who had fallen into 
 their family circle. 
 
 Of whom was Phil thinking that gave him so 
 much amusement while he sketched the robin ? 
 
 Violet was not sure whether her mental dis- 
 turbance was more resentment toward the 
 artist, or hurt that Edgar Fabian should de- 
 clare that he had been bored at the island.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 JUNE 
 
 DURING the long winter a strong bond of friend- 
 ship grew between Mrs. Wright and Eliza 
 Brewster. The latter's broken heart seemed to 
 heal in the very act of caring for the exiled lady, 
 and in the consolation of knowing that her own 
 familiarity with the island, and with all domes- 
 tic cares, gave daily return for the unspeakable 
 benefit of her home. 
 
 Upon Mr. Wright she looked from the first 
 with a reflective and judicial eye. He was Mrs. 
 Wright's husband, and that fact made Eliza 
 rigidly careful to do her duty by him; but men- 
 tally she classified the adopted islander as a lazy 
 man who had all his days been looking for a soft 
 spot and who had been irresistibly drawn to the 
 freedom and irresponsibility of a life which per- 
 mitted him to wear a negligee shirt during the 
 semi-hibernation of the winter, and made no 
 demands upon him beyond an occasional aris- 
 ing, by request, from the lounge to shovel snow- 
 paths and bring in fuel, and at evening to play 
 
 258
 
 June 
 
 checkers with Captain James until an early 
 bedtime. 
 
 He liked Eliza's cooking and her nimble, 
 quiet ways, and externally they were at peace; 
 but Captain James's shrewd eyes often read 
 Eliza's suppressed impatience. One spring 
 morning, when he met her in the island road, he 
 attempted a mild protest in favor of the master 
 of the house. 
 
 "Mr. Wright's a clever feller," he said 
 argumentatively. "What's wrong with him, 
 Eliza?" 
 
 "What have I said about him?" she snapped. 
 
 "Don't you suppose I got eyes?" asked 
 Captain James. 
 
 Eliza was startled. She must put even 
 greater guard upon herself. 
 
 "Now, I ain't a-goin' to talk about him, 
 James. I s'pose it's all right for a great hulk of 
 a man to own a dainty city woman and take her 
 away from her friends and mew her up on a 
 snow-bank to suit his convenience." 
 
 "What you goin' back on the island for?" 
 inquired Captain James. 
 
 " I ain't goin' back on it. I 'm island folks. I 
 find there is something, after all, in this talk 
 about native air." 
 
 259
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "It's treated you all right," agreed the other, 
 regarding her countenance critically. "You've 
 dropped off five years this winter. Come sum- 
 mer you '11 shed ten more, like enough, and look 
 like you ought to look, Eliza. You ain't any old 
 
 woman." 
 
 Eliza ignored the blandishment. 
 
 "I can see in the glass I look better," she 
 returned impersonally, " and it makes me mad 
 to think it's all because I live in the house with 
 a sacrifice. Supposin' I'd come back to this 
 island alone." 
 
 "Mrs. Wright don't act like any sacrifice," 
 protested Captain James; "she's chipper as a 
 canary bird." 
 
 "Of course she is. That's the kind of a wife a 
 man like that's sure to get. It's been my lot in 
 life, James, to live with angels," added Eliza 
 fiercely. "Can you tell me why I should be just 
 as cantankerous as ever?" 
 
 Captain James laughed. "Mebbe there's as 
 much truth in that talk about original sin as 
 there is about native air," he returned. "You 
 always was a limb, Eliza." 
 
 She smiled reluctantly. " I warned her before 
 I came," she returned, grave again. " I told her 
 I was bad, and set" 
 
 260
 
 June 
 
 "But you could n't scare her, eh?" 
 "Nobody could do that. She ain't afraid of 
 anything above ground. 'T ain't fear makes her 
 yield to Lazy-Bones there; and when she sets 
 out to make him do something he don't want 
 to, she gets him every time." Eliza's eyes wan- 
 dered to a cottage by the roadside. "There's 
 Betsy Eaton watchin' us. I expect she's won- 
 derin' why we're standin' in the wet so long. 
 Well, I 've blown off steam and I '11 run home. 
 I s'pose you '11 be comin' up to-night to move 
 those little pieces o' wood around." 
 
 " Sure thing, Eliza," returned Captain James 
 with a grin. "Lemme teach you the game so 
 you can play it with him times when I don't 
 
 come." 
 
 In the speaker's own parlance he was trying 
 to "get a rise" out of his old friend; and he 
 succeeded. Eliza's eyes flashed almost with the 
 fire of youth. 
 
 " I 'd throw 'em at him. I know I would 
 every checker of 'em." 
 
 "Well, he'll be fishin' again soon," laughed 
 Captain James soothingly, "now his new boat's 
 about done." 
 
 "H'ml" grunted Eliza; and with no other 
 form of farewell, she started to trudge up the 
 
 261
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 hill toward home. The earth was moist and 
 yielding; the chill spring was here, and nature 
 was drawing her green paint-brush over the 
 high wave of the bluff. Little star-flowers 
 bloomed under her energizing kisses, and 
 shivered bravely when the east wind blew. 
 
 This morning the sun fell with sufficient 
 warmth on the stone step for Pluto to lie there, 
 and blink at the first sparrow he had seen. On 
 the whole, Eliza's move away from New York 
 had his entire approval. The change from the 
 restrictions of a city flat to this place was in 
 itself a delight, and far from agreeing with 
 Eliza's estimation of the master of the house he 
 found him quite the most sensible human being 
 he had ever encountered. One who appreciated 
 a soft lounge when he saw it, and who always 
 made room for a cat, and never disturbed his 
 slumbers with precipitate movement. Eliza 
 watched their growing intimacy with grim 
 amusement. 
 
 "Birds of a feather flock together," was 
 frequently her mental comment. 
 
 As the spring unfolded, and the early morn- 
 ings were less chill, Mr. Wright again took up 
 his suspended practice of making sunrise visits 
 to his pond. At first Pluto considered this a 
 
 262
 
 June 
 
 foolish practice ; but at last he learned to connect 
 it with attractive pieces of fish which came his 
 way, and again he paid tribute of admiration to 
 the hand which always discriminated so nicely 
 just which point back of his ears should be 
 scratched in order to establish the most friendly 
 relations. 
 
 Eliza's threat that he should reside in the 
 chicken-house had come to naught, for it had 
 required but a few days for Pluto to recover 
 from the savagery to which his novel contact 
 with Mother Earth at first reduced him; and he 
 again became a domestic animal full of content 
 in the equally novel petting which now fell to 
 his share. 
 
 One day Eliza with amused memory of her 
 childish terrors pushed open the door of the 
 forlorn chicken-house, and looked in; but one 
 look was enough. She closed it again quickly on 
 the dirt and cobwebs. Its small windows were 
 opaque with the dust of years. It was almost 
 picturesque with its leaking roof which had 
 once been red, huddling close to earth under 
 the protection of those hardy old warriors, the 
 balm-of-Gilead trees. 
 
 ' l If 't was mine," mused Eliza, as she 
 withdrew from the dirt and damp of the close 
 
 263
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 interior, "I'd clean it with a good fire. It's 
 hopeless." 
 
 A sparrow lit on the despised roof, and 
 poured a song toward the sea. 
 
 "That's so," said Eliza looking up at the tiny 
 creature with a smile. "It is spring. It's a 
 wonder to be in a place where there ain't one 
 o' your English cousins." 
 
 She turned and nearly trod on Pluto. His 
 green eyes were fixed on the bird. His lithe 
 body crouched in the fresh grass and quivered 
 along its length in the intensity of his upward 
 gaze. 
 
 "Pluto Brewster!" she exclaimed in desper- 
 ation. " Supposin' you ever should catch a bird 
 up here!" She stooped and boxed his ears. He 
 laid them back and, blinking the eager eyes, 
 crouched lower. 
 
 Mrs. Wright on her doorstep saw Eliza ap- 
 proaching, the cat under her arm. 
 
 "He was lookin' at a sparrow," announced 
 Eliza. 
 
 Mrs. Wright laughed. " I Ve heard that a cat 
 may look even at a king," she said. 
 
 "If Pluto should kill birds!" exclaimed his 
 owner desperately. 
 
 "Would you, little tiger f" asked Mrs.
 
 June 
 
 Wright, closing her hand over the cat's face and 
 giving it a little shake. 
 
 Pluto was beginning to consider that women 
 were a sad mistake. He struggled to get free 
 and Eliza dropped him. 
 
 "How the spring has stolen past us," said 
 Mrs. Wright. "Do you realize Eliza that even 
 June is moving on its way ? JL-ook over there at 
 the Fabian cottage." 
 
 "Why that's James out on the veranda." 
 
 "Yes, he has had a letter from Mrs. Fabian. 
 She wants him to open the house. To-day is 
 Kathleen Fabian's Commencement." 
 
 "That's so," said Eliza coolly. "You showed 
 me the invitation." 
 
 " It was rather nice of her to remember me, 
 way off here, and little as I know them." 
 
 "I guess Kathleen would be an agreeable 
 enough girl if she was let alone," said Eliza. 
 
 She had for some time now given up anxiety 
 lest the high words over the barrel in Phil's 
 studio bear bad fruit for him; for a letter had 
 set her mind at rest on that score, and she felt 
 instinctively that she had Kathleen Fabian to 
 thank for that. 
 
 "But any girl would be slow to cut off 
 friendly relations with a feller like Mr. Sid- 
 
 265
 
 ney," she considered, prejudice still holding her 
 in a strong grasp. 
 
 "So they're comin'," said Eliza, in a lifeless 
 voice. The winter had been very happy. She 
 began to long for the fall. 
 
 "Yes, very soon." 
 
 "Is your niece comin' with 'em?" 
 
 "No; she will keep busy until July." Mrs. 
 Wright drew a deep breath. 
 
 "Oh, how lovely this is, Eliza," she went on. 
 "This morning makes me think of Stopford 
 Brooke's lines, 
 
 'A little sun, a little rain, 
 A soft wind blowing from the West 
 And woods and fields are sweet again, 
 And the warmth within the mountain's breast.' 
 
 Our mountain what a height we should see 
 we had if that sea could roll back; we can feel 
 the warmth in its breast this morning, and the 
 lovely miracles it is putting forth. Why don't 
 you look happier, Eliza?" Mrs. Wright smiled 
 as she asked the question. Her friend's eyes 
 were gloomily following the movements of 
 Captain James in the distance as he beat rugs 
 on the grass beside the boulder cottage. 
 
 "I guess you know why," rejoined Eliza 
 briefly. 
 
 266
 
 June 
 
 "The idea of letting anybody rob you of 
 your happiness," said Mrs. Wright. "I shall 
 have to put Marcus Aurelius side of your bed 
 so you can read him before you go to sleep. 
 I thought you were more of a philosopher, 
 Eliza." 
 
 "You ain't half through your disappoint- 
 ments in me yet," returned Eliza drily. 
 
 "Ho!" exclaimed Mrs. Wright, resting her 
 hand on the shoulder of her companion as she 
 stood a step below her. " I have n't begun on 
 them yet." 
 
 "Just s'posin'," said Eliza, looking about at 
 the fair prospect, "that Mrs. Ballard could be 
 with us to see the summer comin'. How com- 
 fortable we'd make her!" 
 
 "I don't believe she'd come," said Mrs. 
 Wright gently, "as much as she loves us." 
 "That's what he said," returned Eliza mus- 
 ingly. "He said we had n't ought to believe we 
 could make her happier than she is." 
 
 "He? Who?" 
 
 "Mr. Sidney." 
 
 "Good for the boy," said Mrs. Wright, who 
 had heard so much and often about Philip that 
 she felt as if she had met him. 
 
 "Why can't we go on here just as we have," 
 267
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 said Eliza regretfully. "Why must folks 
 come?" 
 
 "Listen to the grudging one!" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Wright lightly. "And what a different 
 doctrine Nature is preaching us this morning. 
 Look where you will, no limitations none. 
 Illimitable sky, illimitable sea. That's the way 
 it should be in our hearts, Eliza, illimitable 
 love." 
 
 "I dare say," returned the other with a world 
 of obstinacy in her tone. 
 
 "The world can't be full of Mrs. Ballards, 
 but they're all our brothers and sisters just the 
 same. Mr. Brooke goes on in his verse to say : 
 
 'A little love, a little trust, 
 A soft impulse, a sudden dream, 
 And life as dry as desert dust 
 Is fresher than a mountain stream.' 
 
 I don't like that hard look to come in your eyes, 
 Eliza. The feeling behind it turns life as dry as 
 desert dust wherever it holds sway." 
 
 "I told you " began Eliza slowly. 
 
 "I know all about that," interrupted Mrs. 
 Wright, "but little by little you'll find that all 
 hard wilfulness is flat, stale, and unprofitable. 
 Now you'd better spend this week before the 
 Fabians come in trying that recipe every time 
 
 268
 
 June 
 
 you think of them. 'A little love, a little trust, 
 a soft impulse." 
 
 "And what will Mrs. Fabian be doin' all 
 that time?" asked Eliza hardily. "Do you 
 suppose she '11 have any soft impulses toward me 
 until I give her her aunt's things ? That barrel 
 upstairs in the back bedroom has got her grand- 
 mother's china and silver in it." 
 
 "What do you want of it, Eliza ? " asked Mrs. 
 Wright. 
 
 "To keep it away from her," was the prompt 
 reply; and the speaker saw a cloud pass over the 
 eyes she had learned to love. "Anyway, Mrs. 
 Wright," she went on earnestly, "she left 'em 
 all to me, all her things, Mrs. Ballard did." 
 
 "I see," said Mrs. Wright thoughtfully. 
 "Doubtless her grateful heart longed to leave 
 you her money, and deciding to do otherwise 
 she felt she wished you to have something 
 equivalent." 
 
 While they talked, Captain James had 
 started across the field toward them, and now 
 he drew near, walking beneath the bold and 
 intricate curves made by wheeling swallows, the 
 deep blue of their backs flashing iridescent in 
 the sunlight. 
 
 "Say," he called, "these fellers have set up 
 269
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 housekeeping over there in the Fabian porch. 
 Snug as bugs in rugs they are. Darned if I 
 know what to do." 
 
 "Who? the swallows?" asked Mrs. Wright. 
 
 "Yes." Captain James seated himself on a 
 rustic bench in the sun. "It's the new wind- 
 break they had put up last summer did the mis- 
 chief. Always been too blowy other springs for 
 'em to try it." 
 
 "You dislike to disturb them? Is that the 
 trouble?" asked Mrs. Wright. 
 
 " I dislike to get my head took off," returned 
 Captain James. "Mrs. Fabian '11 have the law 
 on me if I don't knock the nest down and clean 
 up, and Kathleen '11 read me the riot act if I 
 do." 
 
 The speaker pushed his hat to one side and 
 scratched his head. 
 
 Eliza regarded him unsmiling. 
 
 "Do you always take care of their cottage?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Ever since they've had one,' r he answered. 
 "Used to take Kathleen and Edgar out to my 
 pound when they wa'n't knee high to a grass- 
 hopper." 
 
 "And now she has graduated from college. 
 Think of it," said Mrs. Wright. 
 
 270
 
 June 
 
 "Wa'n't I invited?" asked Captain James 
 proudly. "I guess I was. All engraved up 
 pretty, and Kathleen's card inside. When they 
 fledged Edgar and shoved him out o' the nest he 
 did n't remember me; but little sober-sides 
 there, she wa'n't goin' to forget an old friend. 
 Edgar's boots nor his hat don't exactly fit him, 
 late years," went on Captain James good- 
 humoredly, "but Kathleen always was a brick 
 and she ain't got over it. I guess I'll let the 
 swallers alone till she's had her say anyway." 
 
 "Going to be over there this afternoon, Cap- 
 tain James?" asked Mrs. Wright. 
 
 "Yes. I've got Betsy Eaton washin' the 
 dishes and cleanin' now, and I '11 be back again 
 on the rugs later." 
 
 "Let us go over, Eliza," said Mrs. Wright. 
 " I want you to see what a beautiful cottage it 
 is." 
 
 Eliza looked at her with steady significance. 
 "I'm goin' to be too busy," she said slowly. 
 
 Captain James sighed and rose. "Handsome 
 day," he remarked, as he trudged off to dinner. 
 
 "To-morrow, then?" asked Mrs. Wright. 
 
 "No," responded Eliza firmly, freed of Cap- 
 tain James's presence, "nor the day after that. 
 I ain't double-faced, Mrs. Wright. I can't go in 
 
 271
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 when they ain't there, if I would n't when they 
 are there." 
 
 Mrs. Wright laughed softly. "My square- 
 toed Eliza," she said, turning into the house. 
 "Oh, I forgot to say there's a letter for you 
 here. Mr. Wright must have left it on the 
 table." 
 
 Eliza had stooped over the row of sweet peas 
 coming up thriftily about the house, and she 
 rose slowly and followed her friend indoors, 
 but when she saw the small stubbed writing 
 on the envelope her eyes brightened. Twice 
 before during the winter had it come to cheer 
 her. 
 
 "Mr. Sidney!" she said, and sat down to 
 enjoy her letter to the full. 
 
 "DEAR ELIZA," it began. 
 
 "We had a hot day yesterday. Pat's tongue 
 hung out and he assured me that the only thing 
 that would do him any good was to take off his 
 flesh and sit in his bones. They tell me the 
 summer is here to stay, and I am going to make 
 an aisle through my opposite neighbor, the 
 storeroom, and get at the window in there so as 
 to get a draught through. The sun bakes the 
 stable roof, but I would n't mind it if the per- 
 spiration did n't run into my eyes. This state 
 
 272
 
 June 
 
 of things makes me an easy prey to Aunt Isa- 
 bel's kind insistence that I shall spend a week 
 with her. She says two; but that will depend on 
 how much fog there is and whether I have to 
 waste time. 
 
 " I can't compliment you on being a complete 
 letter-writer, but I judge you have had a good 
 winter and kept from freezing. You say the 
 islands have looked like frosted wedding cakes. 
 The first part sounds good to me. I hope you Ve 
 saved some over. That's the sort of wedding 
 cake I 'd like to dream on just now. You may 
 believe my heart often goes homing to the 
 mountains. What would I give for one night 
 under the windy trees. The very stars are hot 
 here but I like it! 
 
 "I've had a wonderful winter. I can't say 
 I 'm a belle at the Academy. One of the teach- 
 ers turned on me the other day and said he 
 would thank me to stop trying to teach him how 
 to teach me. He said my 'stand-and-deliver' 
 methods might be de rigueur west of the Rock- 
 ies, but something less aggressive would be 
 more becoming a student here who knew as 
 little as I did. They all have a hunted look as 
 they come near me; for I don't care a straw how 
 much they snub me if I can only get from them 
 
 273
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 what I'm after; and I glow with the conscious- 
 ness that I have accomplished a lot, even though 
 my strenuous path is strewn with the wounded 
 and I have some bruises myself. 
 
 "Dear Aunt Mary! I send her a wireless 
 every night. I wonder if she gets it ! 
 
 "Aunt Isabel has been a trump to me the 
 whole winter, patient with my neglect, and let- 
 ting me go my own gait; but she brought a 
 thermometer over to the stable in my absence 
 one day and sat down in my room waiting for it 
 to go up. It did n't lag, and I found her sitting 
 there in a wilted state, and she declared that 
 she should stay until I promised to go with 
 her to the island and get a coat of tan. So I 
 promised. It will be great to get a breath, and 
 great to see you again, Eliza. Kindly arrange 
 that the third week in June shall be free from 
 fog. My time will be precious. 
 
 "Give my compliments to Mrs. Wright and 
 tell her I had a pleasant chat with her niece one 
 morning in the park while I was sketching. 
 
 "Tell Pluto to be ready to pose with you if 
 old ocean veils himself. 
 
 "With my best to you, 
 
 "As ever 
 
 "PHILIP SIDNEY." 
 274
 
 June 
 
 "Now, then, Eliza," said Mrs. Wright when 
 her companion had read this epistle aloud. 
 
 "Now, then, what?" returned Eliza happily. 
 
 "He '11 be a link. He '11 have to be. You can't 
 be crabbed and offish and spoil his one vaca- 
 tion." 
 
 "Do you mean Mrs. Fabian?" Eliza gave 
 her rare laugh as she pushed the letter back into 
 its envelope. "If she could help her nephew 
 from runnin' after common folks, she would; 
 but she certainly won't run after him. We 
 shan't clash any." 
 
 "I'm glad I'm going to see the boy," said 
 Mrs. Wright. Violet had written of him : at first 
 with girlish enthusiasm, but after the park in- 
 terview more grudgingly. It seemed rather silly 
 in a grown man to be so amused by the airs of a 
 robin ! For some unknown reason the memory 
 of that foolishness had rankled for days.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE PEACEMAKER 
 
 KATHLEEN FABIAN, out of school in that month 
 of June, was at home in body, but with her 
 mind still clinging about the scenes of her col- 
 lege life. 
 
 "I do believe, all things considered," said 
 her mother when they were sitting alone one 
 morning over their coffee, "that I am against 
 college for girls!" 
 
 Kathleen looked up absent-mindedly from 
 the letter she had been reading. "What's the 
 matter?" she asked vaguely. 
 
 "You have scarcely heard a word I have 
 said since you came home," declared Mrs. 
 Fabian. "Your thoughts are a thousand miles 
 away all the time." 
 
 "Not a thousand," protested the girl. "Four 
 years is a long time, you know. To break up 
 one's home to break all those ties means 
 so much." 
 
 "Exactly what I say," retorted Mrs. Fabian. 
 "I should like to know when you will begin 
 276
 
 The Peacemaker 
 
 again to realize that this is home, and that your 
 father and mother would like some share in 
 your thoughts." 
 
 "Why, I must be horribly selfish," returned 
 the girl. 
 
 "There it is again!" exclaimed her mother, 
 increasingly nettled. "If it takes unselfishness 
 to show some interest in home after a girl leaves 
 college, I say she had better not go there." 
 
 "Very well," returned Kathleen, smiling. 
 "Don't you ever send another daughter; but 
 I 'm glad you made the mistake with me. I Ve 
 been so happy, mother." 
 
 "Oh, well," returned Mrs. Fabian, somewhat 
 mollified by the wistfulness of the girl's look 
 and tone, " I suppose you have, and perhaps it 
 is all for the best; but hereafter, when I speak 
 to you, I intend to begin 'Kathleen Fabian!' 
 and you must reply 'Present' before I go on." 
 
 "Have you been talking to me?" asked 
 Kathleen naively. 
 
 "Well, rather. I have been telling you some- 
 thing that should be very interesting, consider- 
 ing the height of the thermometer. Father says 
 we are to start for the island next Wednesday; 
 and I am holding in my hand an acceptance from 
 Philip Sidney to my invitation to go with us.'' 
 277
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "How very nice," said Kathleen courteously. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian, always on the sensitive lookout 
 where her young relative was concerned, thought 
 she detected a perfunctory note. 
 
 "You knew I had asked him?" 
 
 "Yes, I think you did mention it before 
 Commencement." 
 
 "He says," said Mrs. Fabian, "that you 
 have never talked to him about the island." 
 
 "But think," returned Kathleen, "how sel- 
 dom I have talked with him." 
 
 "Yes," returned her mother resignedly, " and 
 how full your head is of other matters. You 
 were very nice to Phil on Christmas night, here. 
 I was n't sure but that you would invite him 
 yourself." 
 
 "Oh, why should I?" 
 
 "No reason, if you don't see any. Phil was 
 very polite to you at your graduation. Those 
 flowers were exquisite." 
 
 "Yes." The girl smiled. "They would have 
 worried me, but that I know flowers are cheaper 
 in June." 
 
 "I don't think that's a very nice thing to 
 say," observed Mrs Fabian. 
 
 "I meant it very nicely," returned Kathleen 
 mildly. 
 
 278
 
 The Peacemaker 
 
 "Well, perhaps it is n't so strange that you 
 have not talked the island to him, since you 
 have been engrossed in other things ; but I have 
 had all the trouble in the world to induce him 
 to go; and if you had roused his enthusiasm a 
 little it would have been easier." 
 
 "Why have you urged him?" asked the girl. 
 
 Her mother regarded her for a pause, in 
 exasperated silence. "Are you aware," she 
 returned at last, "that it is 87 in the shade this 
 morning? Are you aware that these rooms, 
 where the draught constantly changes the air, 
 are slightly different from that studio, baking 
 under a stable roof and hemmed in by high 
 buildings?" 
 
 "Of course, of course!" 
 
 "Are you aware," went on Mrs. Fabian 
 sonorously, "that one who has always previ- 
 ously had a home might find a brief change 
 from cheap restaurants invigorating in hot 
 weather?" 
 
 " I did n't know," said Kathleen. " I thought 
 perhaps he was too busy to notice. He" she 
 hesitated, but imperceptibly to Mrs. Fabian, 
 "he has not called here since I returned." 
 
 "That's just it," flashed Phil's defender. 
 "He never spares himself. He thinks of nothing 
 279
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 but work. Now, I have never forced any of my 
 relatives on the Fabians," with heightened 
 color, "but your father likes Phil. He was 
 delighted to have me ask him. He has charged 
 me to hold on to the boy until he can join 
 
 us." 
 
 "I hope he can stay," put in Kathleen 
 politely. 
 
 "If I can get him there," said Mrs. Fabian. 
 "Here is this matter of the berths, as usual. 
 The stateroom has been engaged for a month, 
 but we have only Molly's berth outside." 
 
 Kathleen's eyes grew eager. "Well, that's 
 all right," she said. "You won't mind taking 
 Molly in the stateroom in my place, and let 
 Mr. Sidney have her berth. I'll wait and come 
 up with father." 
 
 "You not go with us? Kathleen, you're 
 absurd." Color streamed again over Mrs. 
 Fabian's face. 
 
 "No, no. That will be a fine plan, and 
 relieve you of all embarrassment. Father will 
 like to have me here, and I shall love to stay 
 with him." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian gazed at the girl in silence. She 
 admired Kathleen extravagantly. There was 
 something in the girl's natural poise and ele- 
 
 280
 
 The Peacemaker 
 
 gance which the stepmother, with an innate, 
 unacknowledged consciousness of inferiority, 
 worshipped. She never forgot that Kathleen's 
 mother had been a Van Ruysler. Now, as if it 
 were not enough that Edgar scorned the island, 
 and even if he should be granted leave of 
 absence would not play the courteous host to 
 Phil, now Kathleen was anxious to avoid him, 
 and caught at an excuse to postpone her de- 
 parture. 
 
 The girl grew uncomfortable under the fixed 
 stare bent upon her, and when suddenly Mrs. 
 Fabian dropped her coffee-spoon and burying 
 her face in her hands burst into tears, Kathleen 
 arose in dismay, the soft laces of her negligee 
 floating in the breeze she made hastening around 
 the table and taking the weeping one in her 
 arms. 
 
 "I don't know what has happened," she said 
 in bewilderment, "but I am sure it is all my 
 fault. I was trying to help you, mother." 
 
 "You were not!" responded Mrs. Fabian, as 
 angrily as the softening nature of salt water 
 would permit. "You were trying to avoid that 
 poor, lonely little fellow." 
 
 Kathleen bit her lip as memory presented 
 the stalwart, self-confident artist before her. 
 281
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "You tell me to take my young cousin if I 
 must, and get his visit over with before you 
 come up there to enjoy yourself. You don't 
 care how much you hurt his feelings." 
 
 "Why, mother, would n't he think it very 
 natural that I should keep father company?" 
 
 "No, certainly not, when he knows that 
 Edgar is here. He does n't know that Edgar 
 is n't any use to anybody, unless it's Mrs. 
 Larrabee. He'd just think the truth: that you 
 don't want to be there at the same time he is." 
 
 "Now, mother, you're so mistaken. He 
 would n't even miss me. When he gets the view 
 from our porch he won't know whether I'm 
 there or not." 
 
 "Very convenient excuse; but you need n't 
 make any more of them. I understand you, 
 Kathleen. Why should n't I, when I taught 
 you to walk? I'm foolish to break down before 
 you. 4 I ought to have more pride; but it 's the 
 heat. I 'm tired and nervous; and you come 
 home from college with no interest except in 
 what you've left behind you, and want to 
 arrange things so that my guest at the island 
 will have his visit spoiled " 
 
 "Mother, he - 
 
 "Nobody at the cottage but me, and nobody 
 282
 
 The Peacemaker 
 
 to help entertain him but Mrs. Wright and 
 Eliza Brews ter and " 
 
 "Mother, he " 
 
 "It's so often that I ask any of my friends 
 there! So often that I bore you and Edgar to 
 look out for my guests! I must always be on 
 hand for yours, to chaperone you and see that 
 all goes smoothly for your plans. I suppose " 
 ' "Mother, indeed " 
 
 "If Phil had sunstroke, it would be all the 
 same to you, just so he kept out of your way; 
 and Christmas week when we went there to tea, 
 how nice he was to us, and so amusing, getting 
 everything in such perfect order that he apolo- 
 gized for not dusting the marshmallows. Oh, 
 my head is just bursting!" 
 
 "There, mother dear, I know you will be ill, 
 if you get so excited," said Kathleen, patting 
 the heaving white silken shoulder. "Of course, 
 I'll go to the island with you. I did n't know 
 you cared so much." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian lifted her swollen eyes to behold 
 her victory. "There's one comfort, Kathleen," 
 she said, deep catches in her breath. "You 
 never do things by halves. If you do go, you'll 
 never allow Phil to feel that he bores you." 
 
 The girl smiled. "No, if I succeed in calling 
 283
 
 myself to his attention," she answered, "I 
 promise he shan't suspect it." 
 
 "If he is sometimes absent-minded," said 
 Mrs. Fabian defensively, "I'm sure I don't 
 know any one who should have so much sym- 
 pathy with him as you the very queen of 
 wool-gatherers." 
 
 Kathleen laughed and went back to her seat 
 at the table. " I see that I must reform," she 
 replied. 
 
 "I'm relieved, and I do thank you," said her 
 mother; "but the question remains, how are 
 we going to get Phil there?" 
 
 "That's easy. Send Molly with the other 
 maids by the boat. I '11 hook your gown." 
 
 "There," returned Mrs. Fabian; "you see, 
 you might have suggested that in the first 
 place. I understand you well enough, Kath- 
 leen." 
 
 " I thought it would be good fun to hob-nob 
 with father. It's so long since I have." 
 
 "I'm going to persuade him to leave business 
 early this year. It has worried him unusually 
 this winter. He can if he only thinks so. I 
 reminded him this morning that if he died, the 
 business would have to get on without him. 
 He agreed, but said in that case the loss would 
 
 284
 
 The Peacemaker 
 
 be wholly covered by insurance. Rather grim 
 sort of humor, that. I told him I could n't see 
 anything funny in such talk." 
 
 "Poor father," commented Kathleen. 
 "Everybody is tired this time of year. There 
 should be some arrangement of relays in run- 
 ning a business. The winter workers should be 
 turned out to grass in May." 
 
 She looked at her father that evening with 
 observant eyes, as together they moved into 
 his den after dinner. It had been closed from 
 the sun all day and he sank into a big leather 
 armchair by a breeze-blown window, following 
 his daughter's white-clad figure with apprecia- 
 tive eyes. 
 
 "I'm glad you're through college, Kath," 
 he said. 
 
 "So I can light your cigar the rest of my 
 life?" she asked, seating herself on his knee and 
 applying the lighted match. 
 
 "Partly that," he answered, drawing in the 
 flame, "and partly for your mother's sake. 
 She needs more companionship than I can give 
 her. She has a gay nature; she likes going out. 
 I hope you are n't too much like me." 
 
 "I hope I'm exactly like you," the girl re- 
 turned devoutly; and leaning forward, she drew 
 285
 
 in a mouthful of the fragrant cigar smoke and 
 exhaled it through her nostrils. The movement 
 was quick and graceful, and she looked mis- 
 chievously pretty. 
 
 "Don't do that, you monkey," said her 
 father quickly. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I don't like it." 
 
 "I'm frightfully unfashionable, because I 
 smoke so little," she returned. 
 
 "It's a vicious habit for women," de- 
 clared Mr. Fabian. 
 
 "But I'm a suffragist; besides, men toler- 
 ate it in women now they like them to do 
 it." 
 
 "Not the women they love," said Mr. 
 Fabian quickly. 
 
 "Oh!" responded Kathleen. 
 
 "When I saw you smoking a cigarette with 
 Edgar a little while ago," he went on, "I spoke 
 to you about it. Don't you remember? I told 
 you how unbecoming I thought it. I hoped you 
 would heed me." 
 
 Kathleen met his serious gaze. 
 
 "That was n't a little while ago," she said. 
 
 "Certainly it was. This winter." 
 
 "It could n't have been later than Novem- 
 286
 
 The Peacemaker 
 
 her," she went on slowly, "for I haven't 
 touched a cigarette since then." 
 
 "Good girl." Mr. Fabian patted her shoul- 
 der. " It disgusted me to see you. You '11 never 
 do it again?" 
 
 "No." She shook her head, and carefully 
 ran her finger through a ring of smoke as it 
 passed her. 
 
 " I wish I could get Edgar to say the same," 
 remarked Mr. Fabian. 
 
 "You don't set him a good example," she 
 returned. 
 
 "You never saw me with a cigarette. Edgar 
 has to abstain from them in the office, but I 
 think he sits up all night to make up for it. I 
 have an idea they contribute to his general 
 uselessness." 
 
 Kathleen smoothed the care-worn lines in the 
 speaker's brow with her gentle fingers. He 
 loved their touch. 
 
 "I think Edgar isn't smoking much these 
 days," she said. 
 
 "Indeed." The response was indifferent. 
 "Why should that be? Does Mrs. Larrabee 
 want them all?" 
 
 "It's on account of his voice," said Kathleen. 
 
 The tired man of affairs removed his cigar to 
 287
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 laugh while his daughter arranged his hair 
 around his temples. "Edgar denying himself!" 
 he ejaculated quietly. 
 
 "Yes, father, he's waking up to it," said the 
 girl, with a little serious nod; "and that's one 
 thing Mrs. Larrabee has really done for him 
 made him believe that his voice is worth work- 
 ing for." 
 
 "It's the only thing she can find to flatter 
 him about. That's all that amounts to," said 
 Mr. Fabian, resuming his cigar. "So long as 
 she can make any use of him she will keep him 
 dangling about, and flattery is the best bait." 
 
 "But his voice is a real gift," insisted Kath- 
 leen, with deliberate emphasis. "Don't you 
 think so?" 
 
 "I never heard him sing that I know of 
 certainly not for years." 
 
 "It is beautiful the heart-reaching kind. 
 If he had n't been a rich man's son it would 
 have been given to the world in some shape." 
 
 "A rich man's son." Mr. Fabian repeated 
 the words quietly, and took his daughter's arm 
 in a strong grasp. "Kathleen, this has been an 
 awful winter. I don't know what the next year 
 will bring forth. Say nothing to your mother, 
 but there are threatening clouds all about me." 
 288
 
 The Peacemaker 
 
 "Father!" The girl pressed her cheek to his, 
 and there was a moment of silence; then she 
 spoke again gently. "I have often wished I 
 might have been your son." 
 
 The hand that had gripped her arm, stole 
 around her and drew her close. 
 
 After a moment, she sat up again and faced 
 him. "I came in here to-night on purpose to 
 speak to you about Edgar," she went on. "He 
 wanted me to intercede for him in a matter." 
 
 "A matter of debts, I suppose," said Mr. 
 Fabian, his manner imperturbable again, and 
 his tone bitter. 
 
 "Yes, but " 
 
 "I'm through," interrupted the man. "He 
 has had plenty of warning. I would not tell 
 you, Kathleen, the number of foolish, and 
 sometimes disgraceful, affairs I have settled 
 for him." 
 
 "I don't doubt it, dear, but let me tell you 
 about this," said the girl seriously. "Edgar 
 has no judgment or foresight. He persists in 
 claiming that he was born with a golden spoon 
 in his mouth and that whatever he can scoop 
 up with it is his right. He is your only son and 
 you owe him unlimited liberty." 
 
 "The lessons I have given him would be 
 289
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 sufficient if he had any brains," said the father 
 sternly. 
 
 "Yes; but just a minute more. This debt 
 will astonish you. It is to Mazzini, the famous 
 voice teacher. He has been studying with him 
 since January." 
 
 "Just like his vanity! Let him send the bill 
 to Mrs. Larrabee. It is her doing." 
 
 "Yes, it was her doing in the first place, but 
 I suspect from what Edgar says that she is 
 tired of him. He has n't seen her often of late, 
 and she sails for Europe anyway next week; 
 and Edgar is so interested in his music that now 
 it comes first. His teacher is so enthusiastic!" 
 
 "Of course he is!" observed Mr. Fabian 
 cynically. "They're always enthusiastic over 
 the voices of pupils whose pocketbooks will 
 stand the strain." 
 
 "Edgar sang for me last night while you and 
 mother were out. Father, it was a beautiful 
 performance. It is the real thing. Of course, 
 he was wrong crazy, to go into such expense 
 without asking you, for the lessons are fright- 
 fully dear; but if the boy were to amount to 
 something in an artistic line, would n't it be 
 worth the investment? You are discouraged 
 by his lack of interest in business." 
 290
 
 The Peacemaker 
 
 Mr. Fabian's chin sank dejectedly as he 
 flicked the ash from his cigar into the receiver 
 on the stand beside his chair. 
 
 "Discouraged by his inability," he said 
 slowly; "discouraged by his lack of principle, 
 by his vanity and conceit. I will give him board 
 and lodging as long as he wishes to live with 
 me; but- 
 
 "Then, dear," interrupted Kathleen, her 
 voice thrilling with the sympathy she felt, "try 
 this one thing more. If the expense does n't 
 appall you " 
 
 Mr. Fabian shook his head impatiently. 
 "That would be nothing as yet." 
 
 "Edgar can't study through the summer. 
 His teacher is going to Italy. He would like to 
 go with him " the girl paused doubtfully. 
 
 Her father laughed. "I dare say. Edgar's 
 European travel, however, is over until he is 
 engaged to sing before the crowned heads." 
 
 "Yes, I supposed so," agreed the girl; "but 
 he means to work faithfully all summer." 
 
 "Work faithfully! Edgar!" repeated Mr. 
 Fabian. 
 
 "Supposing he should, father. Supposing he 
 has found his niche in life and will do something 
 worth while." 
 
 291
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Wonderful if true," remarked Mr. Fabian. 
 
 "But it won't help to disbelieve in him. I 
 know he began all wrong forcing you to pay 
 this money " 
 
 Kathleen arose suddenly, and, moving across 
 the room, opened the heavy door of the den. 
 "Come in, Edgar," she called. The invitation 
 was unnecessary; for the youth, in his eagerness 
 to hear what fate was being meted out to him 
 within the closed apartment, had been leaning 
 so hard against the door that when all at once 
 it fell away from him, he staggered into the 
 room with the most undignified celerity. 
 
 Stirred as Kathleen was, she had to bite 
 her lip before she could speak; but when 
 her brother had gained his perpendicular 
 and faced them with a somewhat frightened 
 and very crimson countenance, she broke the 
 silence. 
 
 "Tell father," she said, "that you know you 
 began this new venture wrong: that it was 
 shameful to force him to pay this big bill for 
 your lessons." 
 
 Edgar choked and swallowed, meeting the 
 eyes that were lifting to him from the depths 
 of the leathern armchair. Convicted of eaves- 
 dropping and reading the cold appraisement in 
 292
 
 The Peacemaker 
 
 his father's gaze, he had not gathered himself 
 to utter a word when Mr. Fabian spoke. 
 
 "You have not forced me," he said slowly. 
 "I can refuse. You are of age. You can be 
 sued and imprisoned quite independently of 
 
 me." 
 
 Edgar's heart beat fast and he set the even 
 teeth. 
 
 "You have counted once more on my unwill- 
 ingness to have this occur; but that unwilling- 
 ness has been weakening for years." 
 
 Still Edgar did not speak. Kathleen, stand- 
 ing by her father's chair, her hands clasped 
 tightly, dared not. She noted that Edgar's gaze 
 did not fall. He met his father's eyes in crimson 
 silence. 
 
 "You know," continued Mr. Fabian dis- 
 tinctly, "whether I have exhausted persuasion 
 and argument with you. You know my futile 
 attempts to rouse your ambition to be my 
 coadjutor, my successor. What you do not 
 know, because you are incapable of under- 
 standing, is the agony of the slow death of my 
 hope in my only son: the successive stages of 
 thought which have finally reduced me to 
 closing the account, and charging him up to 
 profit and loss." 
 
 293
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Kathleen watched her brother" under the 
 lash with the same pitiful misery she felt for his 
 punishments when they were children. 
 
 "But you're going to try him in this new 
 field, father," she said beseechingly. 
 
 There was a space of silence, then Mr. Fabian 
 spoke : 
 
 "I am going to trust your sister's judgment 
 in this matter, Edgar. She believes you are in 
 earnest. I am going to pay these tuition bills, 
 and the coming months will show whether this 
 is another passing toy, or a matter in which you 
 can make good. To find you are good for any- 
 thing, my boy," added the father, after another 
 painful pause, "will be an amazing and welcome 
 discovery." 
 
 Something clicked in Edgar's throat. He 
 evidently wished to speak, but his tongue 
 seemed glued to the roof of his mouth. At last 
 he found voice. 
 
 "I don't blame you," he said jerkily, "but 
 I'll show you!" 
 
 Mr. Fabian nodded his head slightly. "That's 
 what I want," he said quietly; "I need to be 
 shown." 
 
 Without another word, Edgar turned on his 
 heel and left the room. 
 294
 
 The Peacemaker 
 
 Kathleen sank on her knees and buried her 
 face on her father's breast. 
 
 "He didn't thank you," she said, half 
 weeping, "but he felt it. I know he felt it. Oh, 
 father, how I hope for your sake " 
 
 She could not speak further, and Mr. Fabian 
 patted her shoulder, his eyes gazing out the 
 darkening window.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 MRS. FABIAN'S SCHEME 
 
 MRS. FABIAN chanced to meet Edgar as he was 
 leaving the house immediately after this inter- 
 view. She had heard the closing of the library 
 door, and the expression of her son's excited 
 face, as he strode by her, was such that she let 
 him go in silence. 
 
 She knew Kathleen was with her father, and 
 she was only too willing to use the girl as a buf- 
 fer when Edgar was the subject of conversation. 
 
 She moved about restlessly until she heard 
 Kathleen leave the den and close the door softly 
 behind her. Then she waylaid her daughter at 
 the foot of the staircase. By the soft light of 
 the electric lantern, she could see that the girl's 
 eyes were red. 
 
 "Come right up to my room," she whispered, 
 excitedly, as if the very walls had ears. "I just 
 met Edgar." 
 
 They ascended in silence and Mrs. Fabian led 
 the way into her boudoir, started an electric 
 fan, and turned on the light. 
 296
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Scheme 
 
 "Has his father cut him off?" she asked, fac- 
 ing Kathleen, her gaze wide with dread. 
 
 "No, oh, no." The girl sank into a chair. 
 "It was awful, but I hope it is the beginning of 
 better things. Did you know that Edgar had 
 begun to work with his voice?" 
 
 "No! I've noticed that he has been making 
 the most awful noises in his room lately." 
 
 "Well, the talk grew out of that and the new 
 debts he has contracted." 
 
 "Edgar can't turn around without getting 
 into debt!" ejaculated his mother desperately. 
 
 Kathleen told her then what had occurred 
 and she listened attentively. 
 
 "Do you suppose it will amount to any- 
 thing?" she asked at last. 
 
 Kathleen shook her head vaguely. " I don't 
 know enough about the opportunities," she 
 replied, "and I know too much about Edgar. 
 If he is only going to use an accomplishment to 
 stand in a more brilliant limelight with those 
 whose admiration he wants " she shook her 
 head again. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian looked thoughtful. "I never 
 saw such a look in his face as he had just 
 
 now." 
 
 "Father's words stung him, I know. He 
 297
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 even said, 'I don't blame you.' Perhaps he will 
 begin now to be a man." 
 
 "I thought he might be going forever. I 
 did n't dare to speak to him." 
 
 Kathleen gave a disclaiming exclamation. 
 "He could n't do that. He is more helpless 
 than a little new-fledged chicken." 
 
 "I don't know," returned Mrs. Fabian sapi- 
 ently. "Take a weak, good-looking fellow like 
 Edgar, with a lovely voice, and if he became 
 reckless there are plenty of sporty cafes in this 
 town where they would pay him as an attrac- 
 tion. He knows that." 
 
 "Mother!" exclaimed Kathleen, aghast. 
 
 "Why, certainly!" averred Mrs. Fabian dis- 
 mally elated at the dismay she had evoked. 
 "There are a few things I know more about 
 than you do, Kathleen. Imagine a handsome 
 young fellow in correct evening clothes, when 
 the patrons are hilarious at midnight, rising in 
 his place, and, wineglass in hand, suddenly 
 singing a love-song or ragtime. Do you think 
 he would get a few encores? Do you think he 
 could get paid to come again?" Mrs. Fabian 
 had heard a description of lurid New Year's 
 Eve revels and she built a shrewd surmise 
 upon it. 
 
 298
 
 Mrs. Fabian 's Scheme 
 
 Kathleen was so worked upon by the picture 
 that she rose restlessly, and moving to the win- 
 dow gazed into the summer gloom as if search- 
 ing for a glimpse of her brother's well-carried, 
 polished blond head. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian bridled with dignified import- 
 ance as she watched her; but her complacency 
 was short-lived. 
 
 Kathleen suddenly faced about. "Then 
 how," she asked, " can you wish me to leave for 
 the island at such a time?" 
 
 "Oh, are you going back to that again!" 
 
 "With father and Edgar in this sensitive state 
 toward each other to leave them to meet 
 alone in this great house, with no one to soften 
 the embarrassment. Would it be any wonder if 
 Edgar fled to just such scenes as you describe? 
 And would n't it be decidedly our fault?" 
 
 Mrs. Fabian leaned forward in her armchair. 
 
 "You could n't do any permanent good," 
 she said earnestly. "Edgar must really act 
 alone, whether you are here or not. He has n't 
 done any of his practising here anyway, except 
 those uncanny noises in his room." 
 
 "No. There is some piano house where he 
 has been able to use a room at noon; but his 
 teacher sails this week and he cannot get the 
 
 299
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 room any more. He would naturally do a lot of 
 work at home after you were gone, if he felt 
 at ease; and if I were here, it would help a great 
 deal." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian felt baffled. The truth of Kath- 
 leen's proposition was unanswerable; and to 
 urge any claim above Edgar's good at this 
 crucial time would be, she knew, inexcusable 
 in his sister's eyes. 
 
 The girl, burdened with the double respon- 
 sibility of her father's confidence, and Edgar's 
 future, turned again to the window and gazed 
 out into the darkness, while Mrs. Fabian, lean- 
 ing back in the breeze from the electric fan, 
 put on her thinking-cap. It seemed hard that 
 her wayward boy, if he had started on a worthy 
 road, should manage at his very first step to 
 get in her way. 
 
 Her will was strong and shrewd. When later 
 that night she was alone with her husband, she 
 opened the subject. 
 
 "Kathleen tells me Edgar has taken up seri- 
 ous work with his voice." 
 
 "Kathleen is optimistic," was the laconic 
 reply. 
 
 "I think, Henry, we ought to meet him half- 
 way in any honourable undertaking." 
 300
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Scheme 
 
 Mr. Fabian made an inarticulate exclama- 
 tion. He was thinking of the bill Kathleen had 
 placed in his hands before she left him to-night. 
 
 "I can't think," proceeded Mrs. Fabian, 
 "that anything but a high sense of duty would 
 induce anybody to make the blood-curdling 
 noises that I've heard lately from Edgar's 
 
 room." 
 
 A short silence; then Mrs. Fabian spoke 
 again. "It seems he cannot go any longer to 
 the place where he has done his practising. I 'm 
 afraid if he should work evenings here, it might 
 annoy you, Henry." 
 
 " I dare say it might," agreed the weary man, 
 with an involuntary sigh. 
 
 " I was thinking that if he is not very busy 
 at the office " 
 
 "Very busy!" The father threw back his 
 head. 
 
 "You might give him a longer vacation" 
 
 "Edgar's whole life is a vacation," said Mr. 
 Fabian. 
 
 "And let him go with us to the island. If he 
 is really going to make music his lifework he 
 could practise regularly there and be away 
 from temptations, and " 
 
 Mr, Fabian slowly faced his wife with such 
 301
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 attention that she paused hopefully, then went 
 on: 
 
 "You know Philip Sidney is going with me, and 
 his companionship would be so good for Edgar." 
 
 "It's a bright thought, my dear," said Mr. 
 Fabian. "The office will be able to struggle 
 along without Edgar, and then we can close the 
 house and I can live at the club." 
 
 "Not too long," said his wife, so pleased at 
 her sudden success that she put her arms around 
 his neck and kissed him. "Not too long, Henry. 
 You must take a long vacation this year." 
 
 He returned her caress. "One day at a time," 
 he said briefly. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian sought her pillow, well-pleased; 
 and contrary to her habit, she was up betimes 
 next morning, and hastened to her son's room 
 before he came down to breakfast. 
 
 "Can I come in?" she asked, knocking. 
 
 Edgar was in his shirt-sleeves adjusting his 
 tie; and when he opened the door and saw his 
 mother, he gave an exclamation. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he asked. "Too hot 
 to sleep?" 
 
 A cloudless sun was promising another day 
 with a soaring thermometer. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian noted the hard questioning in 
 302
 
 Mrs. Fabian 's Scheme 
 
 her boy's eyes. She knew he considered her his 
 father's aid in denying him the right to spend 
 as a millionaire's son should knew that his 
 attitude toward her had long been defensive; 
 and that her unusual visit to his room roused 
 only his suspicion of something disagreeable. 
 
 "Do you mind if I come in, dear?" she asked, 
 her soft silks trailing noiselessly as she moved 
 across the room. "I am so interested in what 
 I hear about your music." 
 
 Edgar was silent, continuing to busy himself 
 with his tie. He knew his stepmother too well 
 to believe that she had risen with the lark to 
 felicitate him on his last venture. He took up 
 the ivory military brushes she had given him 
 and began to use them vigorously. He was still 
 smarting from the scene of the night before 
 and he braced himself for a homily on the sub- 
 ject of his music bill. 
 
 "I've never believed in thwarting a child's 
 bent," said Mrs. Fabian, flicking the ashes from 
 a chair to make it fit to sit upon. "I said to 
 Philip Sidney's mother, 'let him paint.' I said 
 to your father last night when I heard all this, 
 'let Edgar sing.'" 
 
 Mrs. Fabian paused to allow her breadth of 
 view to sink in. Edgar glanced around at her 
 
 303
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 sulkily, from his mirror, and then looked back 
 again. 
 
 "Now, you have no taste for commercial life, 
 dear, why waste more time in it at present until 
 you see what the artistic line holds for you?" 
 
 Edgar glanced back at the speaker again 
 quickly. What was the "nigger in the fence"? 
 Her face looked innocently out at him from a 
 becoming boudoir cap. 
 
 "And I suggested to your father that he let 
 your vacation start earlier and that you come 
 with us to the island next Wednesday. You are 
 going to work for a time anyway without your 
 teacher, and this hot atmosphere must be so 
 relaxing to the throat. There it is pure and 
 bracing and you can lay out your course of 
 study and be undisturbed." 
 
 Edgar regarded the speaker with some inter- 
 est now, but still questioning. 
 
 "Father thinks, then, we could close the 
 house and he would live at the club." 
 
 Edgar tossed his head, raised his eyebrows, 
 and proceeded to put on his coat. 
 
 "You want to close the house. That's it," 
 he said. 
 
 "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" 
 asked Mrs. Fabian ingratiatingly. 
 
 304
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Scheme 
 
 All Edgar's cynicism was not proof against 
 allowing some satisfaction to appear 'in the 
 prospect of leaving the office routine and pur- 
 suing the line of work which had genuinely 
 captured his interest. 
 
 "Yes, I don't mind," he answered. "Kath 
 going with you?" 
 
 "Yes, and Philip Sidney, just for a short 
 visit." 
 
 Edgar shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "You can imagine the heat of that stable 
 room," suggested Mrs. Fabian. 
 
 "Tophet, I suppose," agreed Edgar. "All 
 right. I'll go." The even teeth had been set 
 many times since last evening in the prospect 
 of a tete-a-tete existence with his father. 
 
 " I wish we might go on all together, but, of 
 course, not knowing, I did n't engage a berth 
 for you." 
 
 "I'll go on the day train," responded 
 Edgar; adding with his customary grace, "I 
 never was keen for travelling in caravans any- 
 way." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian was not critical of his rudeness. 
 She was too pleased at having gained her end, 
 and soon floated away to Kathleen's room, her 
 next strategic point. 
 
 305
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 She found her daughter propped up in bed 
 with coffee and toast on a table before her. 
 
 "Good morning, mother, you put me to 
 shame," said the girl. "Didn't you sleep 
 either? This is early for you." 
 
 "Poor child," said Mrs. Fabian, seating her- 
 self on the foot of the bed and observing the 
 rings around the other's eyes. "Yes, I slept 
 pretty well, but not until after your father and 
 I had had a long talk." 
 
 Kathleen scrutinized her mother's compla- 
 cent countenance and made up her mind that 
 the talk could not have concerned business. 
 
 " I told him how sure I felt that Edgar was in 
 earnest now, and we both concluded it was time 
 wasted to try any longer to fit a square peg 
 into a round hole, so your father is going to let 
 the boy go to the island at once with us and 
 work at his voice there, away from tempta- 
 
 tions." 
 
 "Oh,howfine!" breathed Kathleen. "Then," 
 she added aloud, "he will entertain Mr. Sidney 
 in my place, and I can stay with father." 
 
 "That's an absurd idea and you know it. 
 Philip and Edgar would get along like two 
 tigers. You can see that I need you more than 
 ever to reconcile them." 
 
 306
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Scheme 
 
 Kathleen's face did not look encouraging. 
 She longed to tell her mother of her father's 
 straits, but her lips were sealed. 
 
 "Besides," added Mrs. Fabian, with the 
 conscious power of one who plays the last 
 trump, "one reason your father wishes to dis- 
 pense with Edgar is that he wants to close the 
 house and live at the club." 
 
 Kathleen's face fell and her eyes looked away. 
 
 "You see he'll come to us all the sooner, 
 dear," said her mother. "Men talk about en- 
 joying living at the club, but when they are 
 happy family men they tire of it very soon." 
 
 The girl smiled faintly. "We have been 
 something of a 'happy family' lately," she said; 
 "but if Edgar really turns over a new leaf " 
 
 "Oh, he has! " declared Mrs. Fabian. "I'm 
 glad to remember that the outdoors is large at 
 Brewster's. I suspect he will nearly drive us 
 crazy, but one must exercise some self-sacrifice 
 in this world." She rose. "Take another nap if 
 you can, Kathleen. I'm thankful the island is 
 so near for you. You're completely tired out." 
 
 But Kathleen did not take another nap. She 
 dressed very soon, and, pleading a desire for 
 fresh air, left the house. She did not ask for the 
 machine lest her mother should offer to accom- 
 
 307
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 pany her, but descended in all her dainty white- 
 ness into the subway and started for Wall 
 Street. Arrived at the labyrinth of offices 
 where daily Mr. Fabian struggled and Edgar 
 endured, she dreaded meeting her brother, but 
 she saw nothing of him, and waited in an ante- 
 room, looking about her with a swelling heart. 
 How little part she and her mother had ever 
 had in the heavy responsibilities of her father's 
 life. She doubted if her mother came here twice 
 a year, and when she did it was simply to obtain 
 money. 
 
 She had not long to wait, for Mr. Fabian 
 himself opened the door of his private office, 
 and the clerk passing out saw him stoop and 
 kiss the girl in the large hat strewn with lilacs. 
 
 "What brings you, my dear?" he asked, his 
 brows knitting anxiously. She smiled and 
 clung to his hand as they moved inside. 
 "You're pale, Kathleen. Off to the island with 
 you, child. Off to the island." 
 
 "That's just what I came about," she an- 
 swered, taking the chair he set for her, and the 
 electric fan whirring above her head carried the 
 scent of orris to her father. " I would so much 
 rather stay with you. I came to urge you to let 
 
 me." 
 
 308
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Scheme 
 
 He regarded her with eyes full of affection 
 and gave a short laugh. 
 
 "I frightened you last night," he said. "Per- 
 haps I did wrong." 
 
 "No, no, you did n't. Mother told me the 
 plan to let Edgar go. That is right. Edgar 
 can't be a comfort to you; but I can, father. 
 Don't shut up the house. Let me stay with you 
 till you are ready to go." 
 
 Mr. Fabian nodded, his eyes fixed upon the 
 sensitive face with its beseeching eyes. 
 
 "You're a good girl, Kathleen. You are a 
 comfort to me, whether we're together or not; 
 and just now it will be an advantage to me to 
 live close to my associates at the club. Go with- 
 out anxiety, child. I promise to keep you ad- 
 vised of everything important." 
 
 The troubled eyes did not leave his face. 
 
 "Don't exaggerate what I said last night. I 
 am not going to make any spectacular failure, 
 but I have my own ideas of equity and I 'm not 
 going to wriggle out on a technicality. My 
 course may lose me friends as well as money; 
 but I 've got to live with myself, and there are 
 some memories I don't propose to entertain. 
 Your mother has always been moderate in her 
 demands, she has never shared the insane ambi- 
 .309
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 tions of some of her acquaintances; but her 
 toys are very dear to her and I hate to curtail 
 them. It looks as if I might have to." 
 
 "It might be the making of Edgar," said 
 Kathleen. 
 
 iHer father regarded her in silent admiration. 
 It was evident that her own part in the loss had 
 not occurred to her. 
 
 "Your mother's unselfishness in keeping the 
 island summer home, because I like its sim- 
 plicity, makes this season's problem easy. By 
 autumn I shall know the worst." 
 
 "How I would like to stay with you right 
 along until everything is settled," said Kath- 
 leen fervently. "I want to be sure that you 
 know how happy I should be in it. I keep so 
 busy with my slides and microscope, and then 
 there's something else I do." Kathleen 
 colored consciously. "I meant not to tell any 
 one yet, but, I write a little!" 
 
 "Stories, you mean?" 
 
 The girl nodded. " It is nothing, it may never 
 amount to anything; but the microscope sug- 
 gested it to me. There is such a great world 
 that we never enter or think about. So you can 
 see how happy I should be in our big, cool house, 
 and not a bit lonely, if you'll only have me." 
 
 310
 
 Mrs. Fabian's Scheme 
 
 "I believe you, Kathleen, but it wouldn't 
 work, dear. I could be at home so little, and 
 I'd like to cut off the expense of the house." 
 
 "Oh, oh! Is it so bad as that?" 
 
 "No, not nearly so bad; but in time of peace, 
 prepare for war." 
 
 "Then mother had better not take her usual 
 weeks at a resort." 
 
 Mr. Fabian raised his eyebrows. "How else 
 is the dear lady to exhibit her summer toilets? 
 The fish at the island are so unappreciative." 
 
 "Don't keep things from mother," pleaded 
 Kathleen. 
 
 "I promise not to when there is anything to 
 tell. I was weak enough to think out loud with 
 you. Now, run along, my child." 
 
 "Oh, father, always be weak enough to think 
 out loud with me. Will you?" He had risen 
 and she did so reluctantly. 
 
 He crushed her trim whiteness in his arms, 
 and kissed her. "Don't make me sorry, then. 
 Don't cross any bridge until you come to it. 
 Promise." 
 
 She smiled up at him bravely. "I promise," 
 she said, and left the office with a wistful back- 
 ward 'look at him standing there, his eyes fol- 
 lowing her.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 CASCO BAY 
 
 PAT'S benevolent heart swelled with satisfac- 
 tion when, a few evenings later, Philip ran down 
 the stable stairs, his packed suitcase in hand. 
 
 "Wish you were going along," said the artist, 
 meeting the Irishman's approving gaze. 
 
 "I will as soon as ye need a valet," was the 
 reply. "Ye think I can't put on style!" Pat 
 winked and shook his head knowingly. "Ye'd 
 burst wid pride if ye saw me fixed up and waitin' 
 on ye." 
 
 "I have n't a doubt of it. Well, so long. It 
 will be only a few nights before I shall be back, 
 sizzling with you again." And Phil gave the 
 man a smiling nod and went out of the door, 
 almost running into the arms of Mrs. Fabian, 
 who, in the trimmest of cool grey travelling 
 gowns, was looking askance at a spring and 
 mattress outside the barn door. 
 
 Pat aghast, hastened tobutton the open throat 
 of his shirt. "The Queen o' Sheby," he muttered. 
 
 "Why, did I keep you waiting, Aunt Isabel?"
 
 Casco Bay 
 
 asked Phil, with contrition. " I was planning to 
 be out in front in plenty of time." 
 
 "Yes, it is early, but I wanted to speak to 
 your man a minute." 
 
 Pat bowed in the direction of the voluminous 
 grey chiffon veil. "You may go out and join 
 Kathleen," Mrs. Fabian added. 
 
 "Dear me, nothing private, I hope," said 
 Phil, vastly amused by the conflicting emotions 
 on the Irishman's face. 
 
 "Have you seen to putting your evening 
 clothes away?" asked Mrs. Fabian. 
 
 "Why why, they're hanging up there in 
 the closet." 
 
 "Just what I expected. Run along, and I'll 
 tell this good man what to do." 
 
 Phil gave Pat one humorous glance and 
 obeyed, passing out toward the street where he 
 soon saw Kathleen in the waiting car, her hat 
 tied down by a roseate veil. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian at once accosted Pat. "Could 
 you pack up Mr. Sidney's belongings and send 
 them after him, if we ask you?" 
 
 "I could, mum, but 'tis only a week he'll 
 be away." 
 
 "He would n't want his evening clothes. Do 
 you know what a moth-bag is?" 
 
 313
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "I do not, thin." 
 
 "Well, go to the store and ask, please. Brush 
 Mr. Sidney's evening clothes thoroughly and 
 put them in the bag, seal it up tight, and hang 
 it in the closet. The careless boy. That's what 
 comes of always having had a mother." 
 
 "Lot's o' folks is jist that careless," remarked 
 Pat. He was beginning to feel that even a 
 queen, if she invaded his own vine and fig tree, 
 might be a little less peremptory. 
 
 "You may send everything else, except of 
 course his winter overcoat. By the way, you 
 may get another moth-bag for that, and treat 
 it in the same manner." 
 
 "He'll not be stayin', mum. He's all for 
 work." 
 
 "Has he been sleeping out here on these hot 
 stones?" demanded Mrs. Fabian, with dilating 
 nostrils, looking at the mattress. 
 
 "No, mum, he usually took the bed," re- 
 sponded the Irishman. 
 
 "Well, you've carried his upstairs, I see." 
 
 "I'll have to break it to ye that he did it 
 himself," said the man. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian ignored his manner. Her thought 
 was filled with Philip's situation. 
 
 "Well, here," she said, with a preoccupied 
 3H
 
 Casco Bay 
 
 air, and, taking a bill from the fine-mesh purse 
 which hung from her wrist, she held it out to 
 the Irishman. "Take this and do what I've 
 asked you. You need n't prepay the trunk if 
 you send it. Keep the change, and I hope the 
 heat here won't grow any worse. Good-bye." 
 And Mrs. Fabian turned on her heel and the 
 grey chiffon floated away up the alley. 
 
 Pat looked at the five-dollar bill he held and 
 tossed his head. "Who is that bye," he mut- 
 tered, " and will he iver live in the stable ag'in ? " 
 
 Suddenly, bethinking himself that he might 
 see the grand departure of his lodger, he hurried 
 out to the street, and was in time to see Phil's 
 straw hat loom amid a confusion of grey and 
 rosy streaming veils. 
 
 "Sure, 't is only the rich enjoys this life," he 
 thought good-naturedly, and unbuttoning his 
 neckband again, he returned to his palm-leaf fan. 
 
 As the motor flew breezily through the hot 
 city streets, Philip gave himself up to the 
 pleasure of his outing. Mrs. Fabian regarded 
 him with supreme satisfaction, and Kathleen, 
 though a little heartsore from parting with her 
 father, dared not indulge in a pensive moment, 
 knowing that her mother would pounce upon it 
 alertly and later reproach her. 
 
 315
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 They passed the evening in the stateroom of 
 the flying train, and Mrs. Fabian narrated with 
 much dignity the tale of Edgar's retirement 
 from commercial life in favor of the arts. Philip 
 pricked up his ears when he learned that the 
 heir of the house was expected at the island at 
 once. 
 
 Kathleen was not obliged to talk much, and 
 at last they all ceased fanning themselves and 
 shouting remarks against the clatter of the open 
 windows, and retired. 
 
 After breakfast the following morning, as 
 they entered a carriage to cross Portland, 
 Kathleen nodded at Philip. 
 
 "Say good-bye to heat," she remarked. 
 
 "Hard to believe," returned the Westerner, 
 who had tried to refrain from talking of his 
 native mountains. His thoughts often travelled 
 back even to the stable studio where certain 
 work begun stood awaiting his return; but soon 
 after they entered the boat for the island, he 
 began to see Kathleen's words fulfilled. The 
 ladies wrapped themselves in heavy coats and 
 Mrs. Fabian begged Phil to put on his sweater; 
 but he held his hat in his hand and declared his 
 desire to be chilled to the bone. 
 
 As they pulled out past the near islands into 
 316
 
 Casco Bay 
 
 wide spaces of sea, interest slowly grew in Phil's 
 eyes. His comments grew less frequent, and 
 finally stopped. The islands rose tree-crowned 
 from the water, casting deep green reflections 
 at their feet. Phil took a notebook from his 
 pocket, and occasionally asking the name of an 
 island, he wrote it in the book. Kathleen, 
 understanding his intent, and knowing that he 
 would not fulfil it because of greater satisfac- 
 tion further on, smiled at her mother. 
 
 "What did I tell you?" she asked. 
 
 "Well, what did you?" 
 
 "That he would n't know whether I was here 
 or not." 
 
 "Sh !" 
 
 "He can't hear me any more than if he were 
 anaesthetized. " 
 
 "Hush, Kathleen." 
 
 "I'll prove it." She raised her voice. "Mr. 
 Sidney!" 
 
 Phil not only did not reply, but after a mo- 
 ment more he moved away to another and more 
 unobstructed spot. 
 
 Kathleen gave a low laugh and Mrs. Fabian 
 looked pleased. 
 
 "He is enjoying it, is n't he?" she returned. 
 'This day is a wonderful bit of good fortune. 
 '317
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 First impressions are so important. What made 
 you expect him to behave like this?" 
 
 "I think I must have a groping, artistic sense 
 myself. At any rate, I knew what Casco Bay 
 must do to an artist when he comes upon it all 
 unprepared." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian sighed. "Well, I'm glad our 
 coming here does somebody some good. Are 
 you going on forever calling that boy 'Mr.'? 
 Of course, he can't be informal with you unless 
 you will be so with him." 
 
 "Mother dear, I tell you it does n't matter," 
 laughed the girl. "He has gone into a trance 
 and he probably won't come out of it till the 
 first fog. By that time, perhaps I shall feel 
 entirely informal." 
 
 Captain James stood on the pier when the 
 boat approached Brewster's Island. Kathleen 
 caught sight of him and waved her handker- 
 chief. 
 
 "Mother, it's time to go and make passes 
 over Philip," she said. "He'll have to wake 
 up." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian went to the guest and touched 
 him on the arm. For an hour and a half he had 
 not addressed them. 
 
 He started. 
 
 318
 
 Casco Bay 
 
 "We're there, Phil," she said. 
 
 He followed her, and glanced at Kathleen 
 with a sensation of guilt. He seized the bags 
 with an alacrity intended to offset his preoccu- 
 pation. 
 
 "It's a wonderful bay," he said. 
 
 Kathleen was not regarding him. She was 
 leaning over the rail, waving again toward a 
 tall lean man on the wharf, who smiled, 
 well-pleased, and jerked his head in her direc- 
 tion. 
 
 Soon many passengers were streaming up the 
 gangplank, and in a minute Kathleen was greet- 
 ing the tall lean man with a gayety Phil had 
 never before seen in her demeanor. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian next shook hands with him, and 
 introduced Phil, who, in the confusion and 
 limitations of the commonplace wharf, had 
 quite regained his normal alertness. 
 
 "You gave us a very nice day, Cap'n James," 
 said Mrs. Fabian graciously. "Where's the 
 carriage?" 
 
 "Waitin'. Can't take you all, I'm afraid. 
 Mrs. Frick from down-along engaged me 
 ahead." 
 
 "Ahead of us?" inquired Mrs. Fabian 
 superbly. 
 
 319
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Got one seat," said Captain James. He 
 was accustomed to Mrs. Fabian's autocracy. 
 
 "That's all we want," said Kathleen. "Mr. 
 Sidney and I will walk up." 
 
 So Mrs. Fabian and the bags were stowed in 
 the carriage and the young people were started 
 on their walk before Tom had turned heavily 
 into the road. 
 
 "What air!" exclaimed Phil, as they struck 
 into the deep grass. 
 
 "One can live on it," agreed the girl. 
 
 "Don't expect me to; I feel wonderful pangs 
 already. Gramercy Park had nearly cured me 
 of eating." 
 
 He smiled down at his companion in the rose- 
 ate veil tied under her chin, and she glanced 
 up at the city pallor of his face. "I should 
 think it might," she agreed. "Wait a week. 
 We shall both look like tomatoes and feel like 
 disembodied spirits." 
 
 " I 'm afraid I behaved like the latter, coming 
 down the bay; but really I forgot everything. 
 I want to study the boat-tables and go back 
 to some of those wonderful shores." 
 
 Kathleen smiled demurely. "This does n't 
 cut much of a figure by contrast, does it?" she 
 said. 
 
 320
 
 Casco Bay 
 
 They were crossing diagonally through a 
 green field which led gently up to the island 
 road. 
 
 "It's beautifully fresh here," replied Phil 
 politely, looking about the bare treeless ex- 
 panse rolling up to a bluff against illimitable 
 sky. 
 
 A village store upon the road, a little school- 
 house and a cottage or two, were all that was 
 to be seen. 
 
 Above, on Mrs. Wright's doorstep, Eliza 
 Brewster was standing, opera glass in hand, 
 watching the tall figure and the rosy veil com- 
 ing up through the field. She had restrained 
 herself from running down to the road, for she 
 dreaded Mrs. Fabian, and Phil for the moment 
 had forgotten that Eliza might be in the neigh- 
 borhood. His eyes brightened as they reached 
 the road. He had been privately wondering 
 why the Fabians had chosen this unpromising 
 island as their abiding place. Now he caught 
 sight of the spreading cove, its brilliant banks 
 dark with evergreen trees, while in sheltered 
 spots maples and birches stood amid a riot of 
 shrubs inviting the birds. 
 
 "That's a fine cove," he said, his eyes fixed 
 on the far reaches of the sea. 
 321
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "So the yachtsmen think," returned Kath- 
 leen. 
 
 "Let's look at it a minute," said Phil. 
 
 The girl paused obediently and a smile 
 touched the corners of her lips. Phil's imperson- 
 ality with regard to herself was novel; for Kath- 
 leen had the intangible quality called charm to 
 such a degree that nothing masculine had ever 
 before been able to approach so near to her 
 without striving to win her favor. 
 
 From that first Sunday in the stable studio 
 she had perceived that if she were going to see 
 more of this new factor in the family circle she 
 must do the striving if she were to become a 
 factor to him. A dread that she might desire 
 to do this had beset her ever since, and warned 
 her away from him with a sense of self-preserva- 
 tion. 
 
 He stood forgetful of her now, and narrowed 
 his eyes to the picture. 
 
 "Well, have you looked enough?" she asked. 
 "How are the pangs?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," he replied hurriedly. "I can 
 come back." 
 
 "Certainly, we promise not to lock you up," 
 she answered, half-laughing. "We'll get better 
 views of it, too, as we go on," she added, and 
 
 322
 
 Casco Bay 
 
 turned at a right angle into a green ribbon road 
 leading up a second incline. 
 
 Phil looked about vaguely, and followed her. 
 He noticed on the crest above them a cottage 
 of boulders and shingles. 
 
 "Yours? "he asked. 
 
 "Home, sweet home," she answered. 
 
 Captain James passed them now with his 
 load, and by the time they reached the cottage, 
 Mrs. Fabian was on the steps to welcome them; 
 but Philip was absorbed in the surprise which 
 the summit of that hill gave the newcomer. 
 Before him, but a few rods away, spread the 
 Atlantic, foaming at the foot of the bluff. Dis- 
 tant islands came near in the crystal air, their 
 outline defined by rocks, which in the distance 
 seemed ribbons of sandy beach. The superb 
 breadth of view, ending either in the horizon 
 or in the irregular skyline of the mainland, took 
 the breath of the unfamiliar. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian straightened with pleasure in 
 the spellbound look of her guest as, his hat 
 dropped upon the grass, he gazed in silence. 
 It was her island and her view. She started to 
 speak, but Kathleen touched her finger to her 
 lips with a suggestive smile; so the lady sank 
 instead into a hammock chair. Her maid Molly 
 
 323
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 came out of the house, greeted the ladies and 
 carried in their bags, saying that dinner would 
 be served whenever they were ready. 
 
 Philip, from his stand below on the grass, 
 turned and looked up at them, his eyes dark 
 with the blue of the sea. 
 
 "I understand now," he said, "why you 
 have n't talked about it." 
 
 "Come in and have something to eat," sug- 
 gested his exultant hostess. "We have noon 
 dinner. Kathleen simply refuses to shorten the 
 day with a long evening meal." 
 
 Philip gave the girl a brilliant smile of appre- 
 ciation. 
 
 "After dinner," went on Mrs. Fabian, 
 " Kathleen will take you to walk to some of our 
 pretty places." 
 
 "No, indeed," said the girl hastily. "I un- 
 derstand just how Mr. Sidney will love tp 
 explore for himself. I would n't spoil his sur- 
 prises." 
 
 Philip said nothing to the contrary. His 
 thoughts were absorbed taking mental stock 
 of the materials he had brought, and he fol- 
 lowed mechanically into the charming cottage 
 whose every window framed a water scene, 
 waves creaming upon the rocks which stretched
 
 Casco Bay 
 
 granite fingers unceasingly to grasp them, while 
 unceasingly they slipped away. 
 
 As soon as Phil reached his room he threw 
 open his suitcase with feverish haste and ex- 
 amined all the sketching paraphernalia he had 
 packed so hastily. 
 
 The music box which called to meals played 
 all its tunes, but the guest did not appear. At 
 last Mrs. Fabian sent Molly to knock on his 
 door. 
 
 "What a wonderful day," she said to Kath- 
 leen when they were alone, "and in June one is 
 so likely to strike fog and rain. Now let it come. 
 He has seen what Brewster's Island really is - 
 or he will see when you have taken him about 
 this afternoon. The only drawback to the whole 
 trip so far has been your refusal to do that. 
 How could you be so abrupt, my dear?" 
 
 "Mother, don't try to manage an artist," 
 replied the girl emphatically. "He will want 
 only to be let alone. Can't you see it? And so 
 do I." Kathleen looked remarkably defiant. 
 "I want to be let alone. This is my vacation, 
 too, remember. I have worked as hard as he 
 has." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian met her child's determined re- 
 gard with surprise. Kathleen did look pale and 
 325
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 thin, now that she had time to observe it. 
 The heat of the train last night had not been 
 conducive to sleep. 
 
 "Very well, dear," she acquiesced with 
 meekness. "Perhaps you ought to lie down this 
 afternoon. I'm sure I shall. I'd like the very 
 waves to be still." 
 
 As she spoke the last word, Philip appeared 
 and they sat down at table. The combination 
 of the air and the delicious fresh sea-food to 
 one long unaccustomed to home fare made the 
 guest suspend all artistic calculations and do 
 such justice to the dinner that Mrs. Fabian 
 sighed. 
 
 "It is such a satisfaction to have a man's 
 appetite at the table," she said, when Phil 
 made laughing apology and referred to the city 
 restaurants. "To-morrow we shall have two 
 
 men. 
 u 
 
 To be sure," thought Phil. These were 
 Edgar's mother and sister and home. Somehow 
 he could not fit the blase society man into this 
 Arcadia. He must make the most of to-day. 
 
 As his hunger wore away he looked more and 
 more from the windows. The dining-room 
 might have been on a ship for the freedom of 
 its vast sea views. When they rose from the 
 
 326
 
 Casco Bay 
 
 table, he looked at Kathleen with boyish 
 expectancy. 
 
 "Are we going to walk?" he asked. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian interposed with the best inten- 
 tions. "I don't think Kathleen had better go, 
 after all, Phil," she said. "She is very tired. 
 She is going to lie down. You won't mind run- 
 ning about this first afternoon by yourself, 
 I'm sure." 
 
 Kathleen saw disappointment and then con- 
 cern grow in the guest's face, for he suddenly 
 observed that she was pale. 
 
 "Nonsense, I would n't think of wasting time 
 lying down," she said cheerfully. "Wait a few 
 minutes. I'll be downstairs in a jiffy." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian watched her as she ran lightly 
 up the stairway. 
 
 "Do you think she ought to go?" asked Phil 
 doubtfully. 
 
 "Philip," returned his hostess dryly, "don't 
 ask me what I think. If you ever have a 
 daughter twenty years old and just out of 
 college, you will find the safest, wisest course is 
 not to think at all." But she smiled as she said 
 it; for this time Kathleen's waywardness was 
 not displeasing.
 
 CHAPTER XDC 
 
 FLASHES OF BLUE 
 
 WHEN Kathleen ran downstairs a little later, 
 Phil looked at her in smiling surprise. The ele- 
 gant Miss Fabian had disappeared. In her 
 stead was a young girl, shorter by the height 
 of a fashionable boot-heel, and with braided 
 hair wound around her head, fastened by a 
 broad bow of black ribbon. Her short, dark- 
 blue skirt reached to her ankles and a Tarn o j 
 Shanter crowned her head. 
 
 Phil turned to his hostess. "What a strong 
 family resemblance your youngest bears to 
 Miss Fabian. I should know she was her sister 
 if I met her anywhere." 
 
 "Yes, this is Kathleen, not Miss Fabian. 
 Don't forget it. When you come back, I expect 
 you to be treating each other as cousins should. 
 Don't let her walk too far, Phil." Mrs. Fabian 
 stifled a yawn. "I think I shall take a nap in 
 the wind-break." 
 
 Shewatched the pair as they moved away from 
 the house. The breeze was tossing the short 
 328
 
 Flashes of Blue 
 
 dark hair on Phil's uncovered head. Kathleen, 
 in her rubber-soled, heelless shoes, scarcely 
 reached his ear. 
 
 "I'm glad now," mused Mrs. Fabian, "that 
 Kathleen is a Van Ruysler iceberg. If she were 
 a susceptible girl, I would n't wish her to be 
 with that man a minute. What matter if he is 
 a high-minded, fine chap ? If he did n't care 
 for her she'd suffer just the same." And Mrs. 
 Fabian gave a yawn mightier than its prede- 
 cessors and sought her favorite nook. 
 
 Meantime Eliza Brewster was making rest- 
 less sallies from the kitchen to the front room 
 and gazing over toward the boulder cottage. 
 She felt sure Phil would inquire about her, and 
 not let too much time pass before he ran across 
 the field to Mrs. Wright's. 
 
 The dinner dishes were washed and cleared 
 away and Eliza had on a clean gingham dress 
 and white apron. Mrs. Wright saw her expec- 
 tancy. 
 
 "Mr. Sidney is a stranger in a strange land," 
 she said. "He will be entirely dependent on his 
 hosts this first day. Why should n't we run 
 over there?" she added with a bright thought. 
 "That's only island neighborliness." 
 
 But Eliza shook her head. 
 329
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 " It would be the very way to begin a new 
 chapter," urged Mrs. Wright. 
 
 Eliza gazed from the window by which she 
 was sitting. In the evolution to health and 
 peace which the winter had brought, her causes 
 of offence had gradually retreated into greater 
 perspective, and the broad calm outlook which 
 Mrs. Wright brought to bear on the untoward 
 as well as the agreeable events of life had 
 affected the narrow hardness of her own obser- 
 vations. Nevertheless, to beard the lioness in 
 her den on the very day of her arrival would be 
 a feat entirely beyond Eliza; so she only shook 
 her head again, put on a shade hat, turned up 
 the skirt of her dress, and went out to weed the 
 sweet peas. 
 
 Thus it was that, with her back to the boulder 
 cottage and her hands busy with the earth she 
 loved, she did not hear steps that approached 
 on the springy turf; and the first notice she had 
 of the arrival of callers was a man's voice 
 speaking above her. 
 
 "Doing finely, aren't they?" was the remark. 
 
 Well she knew the voice. She stepped on her 
 petticoat in her haste to arise, and two strong 
 hands went under her arms and lifted her to 
 her feet. 
 
 330
 
 Flashes of Blue 
 
 "Mr. Philip!" she said gladly. 
 
 He was laughing down at her, and Pluto was 
 on his shoulder. Kathleen Fabian stood a few 
 feet away, and Eliza nodded a greeting to her 
 while she allowed Phil to shake both her hands, 
 green stains and all. Mrs. Wright, seeing them 
 from a window, came out to welcome Kathleen 
 and meet Phil, and the usual felicitations on 
 the weather and first impressions followed. 
 
 " I can see," said Phil, "that I am going to be 
 miserly of my days. I was just asking Miss 
 Kathleen if all this beauty is liable to vanish 
 in a fog-bank to-morrow." 
 
 "And she told you not at all liable, I 'm sure," 
 said Mrs. Wright; "but if it does that is the 
 beauty of the island you '11 sit before a blaz- 
 ing open fire and enjoy that quite as well." 
 
 Phil shook his head. "The mere amazement 
 of enjoying a fire at the end of the past week 
 would, indeed, be absorbing for a while; but I 
 want to try my hand at this this new world." 
 He looked off at the blue of the crested waves 
 and the blue of the distant hills. "We are just 
 on our way to the boat now to send a night 
 letter to Pat to get him to send on some stuff. 
 I'm glad you're such a near neighbor, Eliza. 
 I shall be seeing you often." 
 
 331
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "I'll not waste your time now asking you 
 into the house," said Mrs. Wright, "but some 
 wet day you must come in and try our fireplace. 
 When does your brother come, Miss Kathleen ? " 
 
 "To-morrow; and your niece, Mrs. Wright?" 
 
 "In another week, I think. I long to get 
 hold of the child." 
 
 After a few more amenities, in which Eliza 
 took but little part, except to gaze at Phil with 
 wistful eyes, the young people started for the 
 wharf. 
 
 "What -a bonny young man," said Mrs. 
 Wright, looking after them. 
 
 "Ain't he just about right?" agreed Eliza 
 proudly. "You see there ain't any philanderin' 
 there. He just wants to work and work. Here, 
 Pluto! Kitty, kitty," for the cat was running 
 after the departing couple. He paused, not 
 from obedience, but because he saw that their 
 course lay downhill and he preferred a shel- 
 tered sunny corner by the step. 
 
 Phil sent his night letter by the purser of the 
 boat, and the two went back up the hill. Mrs. 
 Fabian beckoned to them from the veranda. 
 
 "I thought you would be asleep by this time," 
 said Kathleen. 
 
 "I thought I would, too," returned Mrs. 
 332
 
 Flashes of Blue 
 
 Fabian. " Come here and let me show you how 
 careless Cap'n James has been." 
 
 They followed her to the shelter of the wind- 
 break where her favorite hammock hung, and 
 whirring wings nearly brushed Phil's face as 
 they entered. The nook was enclosed on two 
 sides with glass, and Mrs. Fabian pointed to 
 the snug lofty corner where the swallows had 
 nested. The young were grown and one had 
 ventured out upon a beam. 
 
 "Oh, oh!" exclaimed Kathleen, with soft 
 delight. "We're in time for the coming-out 
 party. Come here, mother, you're frightening 
 them." And Mrs. Fabian found herself seized 
 unsympathetically and drawn to a safe distance. 
 
 " But I must sleep, Kathleen. I 'm exhausted. 
 I was just dozing off when those creatures 
 swooped across me chattering. I nearly jumped 
 out of the hammock. It was a nervous shock." 
 
 " I suppose," said the girl, "they were saying, 
 'Why could n't those big clumsy human beings 
 have stayed away just one more day!' You 
 must be a mascot, Phil, so many fortunate 
 happenings for your first day." 
 
 She was quite unconscious that the name had 
 slipped out, and the guest smiled and seated 
 himself on the railing near her while Mrs. 
 333
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Fabian in a rocking-chair began to be consoled 
 for her lost nap. 
 
 "Perhaps you would prefer to go on explor- 
 ing," added Kathleen, "but I really can't miss 
 this function." 
 
 "I would n't miss it for a farm," responded 
 the guest, eyes fixed on the nest. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian pulled her chair so that its 
 rockers scraped the boards. 
 
 "We must all be still as mice," warned Kath- 
 leen softly. 
 
 Her mother looked up at the seething nest 
 with disfavor. Since her young people consid- 
 ered the show such a treat, she would be obliged 
 to edit the lecture she had been preparing for 
 Captain James. The parent birds flew in and 
 out in a state of great excitement, and one of 
 them fed the venturesome little fellow on the 
 beam, whereupon the others stretched their 
 necks and vociferated with wide mouths. 
 
 "But they're so slow," complained Mrs. 
 Fabian. "Why don't they fly and be done with 
 it? I can hardly keep my eyes open." 
 
 "They may not go for an hour, or perhaps all 
 night oh, if they are so unkind as to wait 
 until we're all asleep to-morrow morning!" 
 said Kathleen. 
 
 334
 
 Flashes of Blue 
 
 "Then I don't know that I shall wait," said 
 Mrs. Fabian. 
 
 "Perhaps you'd better not," agreed the girl, 
 her eyes fixed on the young bird lest he should 
 elude her. "We're none of us invited to this 
 party, you see." 
 
 Upon this, the venturesome little swallow 
 appeared to have an attack of homesickness, 
 for, instead of flying away, he hopped back to 
 the nest, where he immediately became very 
 unpopular with his brothers and sisters. What- 
 ever the spot into which he had this morning 
 fitted so snugly, it seemed to have disap- 
 peared. 
 
 "Well, did you ever!" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Fabian in exasperation. "Why could n't Phil 
 climb up there and set them all out on the beam 
 and take the nest down. I 'm sure it would just 
 help them along." 
 
 "Worse than pulling open a rosebud," said 
 Kathleen. 
 
 "Very well, then," returned Mrs. Fabian. 
 "I shall go upstairs." 
 
 No one objecting, she rose and suited the 
 action to the word; and Kathleen and Phil were 
 left to a welcome solitude. 
 
 The parent swallows soon ceased to notice 
 
 335
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 the two large, strange birds perched on the 
 veranda railing below. 
 
 Kathleen had discarded her Tarn and as 
 she sat between Phil and the wind-break, the 
 sun gave him the red glints in her "reserved 
 hair." 
 
 The tide was going out, but rushing with a 
 splendid sweep toward the foot of their hill, the 
 sky had occasional billows of downy white lying 
 against its clear blue. The sweet wind swept 
 the fresh grass where daisies were beginning to 
 appear, and all down the irregular coast-line 
 of the island the snowy foam broke on rock and 
 sand. 
 
 The iridescent blue of the swallows' backs 
 and the delicate rose of their breasts lent an 
 exquisite touch of color, as they flew and 
 wheeled in the curving flight designed to tempt 
 the solemn-faced young, crowded so uncom- 
 fortably in the outgrown nest. 
 
 Again one struggled out upon the beam. The 
 cunning parents fed it, while the others begged 
 in vain. Then again the old birds were away in 
 airy flight. 
 
 "Come out, come out in the sunshine," they 
 seemed to cry, wheeling back toward the nest. 
 "Come out to the ecstasy of wind and waves. 
 336
 
 Flashes of Blue 
 
 The whole world, the world of sea and sky, is 
 ours." 
 
 Kathleen for an instant turned about to her 
 companion. "Do you see how he can resist?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Kathleen!" exclaimed Phil. 
 
 She turned back, but too late. In that in- 
 stant the young bird on the beam had flown. 
 
 "They're right there, though," said Phil 
 excitedly, and indeed the birds kept wheeling 
 above the bluff, when, wonder of wonders, the 
 other young ones, struggling to the edge of the 
 nest as if unable to resist the intoxication of the 
 sight, flew out into the open. 
 
 For a minute the bright air was astir with the 
 whir of wings. It was impossible to distinguish 
 the young birds from the old; then they all 
 alighted on the ridge-pole of a small summer 
 house which stood on the edge of the bluff. 
 
 Kathleen turned to Phil, her hands clasped 
 on her breast. He thought her enchanted eyes 
 and smile suggested the unlocking of one of her 
 inner doors. 
 
 "Yes," he replied, nodding, "I never saw 
 anything prettier than that." 
 
 The girl looked back at the summer house. 
 The birds were still sitting there all in a row. 
 
 337
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 The two watched until again wings were afloat 
 in the bright air; then they ran down the steps 
 to see what would be the next resting-place, 
 and saw the birds alight on posts and netting 
 about the tennis court. When again they flew, 
 they disappeared. 
 
 Kathleen sighed. "In my next incarnation," 
 she said, " I choose to be a swallow on Brewster's 
 Island." 
 
 "Then," said Phil, looking at her radiant 
 face, "I'm glad I happened to be a man during 
 your present one." 
 
 The open door closed. Phil thought he could 
 almost hear it click. In an instant the dark 
 eyes were the reflective ones he had known. 
 
 "Thank you kindly, sir," she said. "That 
 was good fun. Shall we go on now with our 
 interrupted walk?" 
 
 He continued to regard her. "I have an 
 idea that you have walked enough. Twice up 
 and down this hill and over to Mrs. Wright's 
 is enough." 
 
 "Ho!" returned the girl lightly, "I walk all 
 day here." 
 
 "Yes, after you have cooled off and slept for 
 a night or two; but I suggest the hammock 
 
 now." 
 
 338 .
 
 Flashes of Blue 
 
 They were standing in the shade and not a 
 hint of red showed in the girl's soft hair. "There 
 are weeks to rest in," she said. "We ought to 
 make the most of this perfect day." 
 
 Phil still regarded her. The excitement of 
 the closing college experiences and the city 
 heat had left their mark; and he did not know 
 of other and deeper reasons for her weariness. 
 The flush of pleasure in the swallow ball had 
 departed. 
 
 "Come," he said decidedly, "let's try the 
 hammock." 
 
 "Really, Mr. Sidney," she answered, smil- 
 ing, "I know when I'm tired." 
 
 But he proceeded up the veranda steps and 
 she followed him into the wind-break. 
 
 "I'm willing," he said, "to go two steps for- 
 ward and one back in my acquaintance with 
 you; but I draw the line at two back. It 
 sounded very friendly a few minutes ago when 
 you called me Phil. I hope you'll see your way 
 clear to doing it again sometime." 
 
 While he spoke, Philip was testing the ropes 
 of the hammock. 
 
 "Oh, I'm sure I did n't call you Phil," she 
 said in surprise. 
 
 "Let me see. Did I call you Kathleen?" 
 
 339
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "I think you did," she replied, a delicate 
 formality in her voice; "but the circumstances 
 certainly excused it." 
 
 " I hope they will continue to excuse it, for I 
 feel it coming on that I shall do it again. You 
 took off Miss Fabian with your tailor gown." 
 He turned and faced her. "Did n't you?" he 
 added. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, and smiled again. 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "Then get right down on this couch, little 
 Kathleen," he ordered, smiling, and after a 
 moment's hesitation the girl obeyed. He drew 
 over her the linen coverlet that had lain on a 
 neighboring chair, and looked, not at her, but 
 with fascinated eyes through the broad sheets 
 of glass which guarded the hammock from the 
 wind. 
 
 "Now, if you can feel sober enough to sleep 
 in this intoxicating place, do so," he said. 
 
 Kathleen, propped high on cushions, folded 
 her arms beneath her head. 
 
 "But is n't it questionable courtesy for both 
 your hostesses to go to sleep, no matter how 
 sober they may be?" she asked. 
 
 ''There's another hostess here," he returned, 
 with a brilliant look down into her uplifted eyes. 
 340
 
 Flashes of Blue 
 
 " Yes, I know," said Kathleen. 
 
 "My best girl," said Phil, moving out of the 
 wind-break. 
 
 Kathleen smiled. "Yes, I like her, too," she 
 answered. "I never had a lonely moment on 
 this island in my life; so I shall not worry about 
 you. There's another hammock around on the 
 other side of the porch. Why don't you go to 
 sleep yourself?" 
 
 "Because I'm afraid I should wake up in 
 Gramercy Park," returned Phil, and, vaulting 
 over the porch railing, he disappeared from 
 Kathleen's view. 
 
 Walking to the back of the house, he gazed 
 down at the waters of the cove, then across the 
 field to the long low white farmhouse where 
 he had found Eliza, then back again at the 
 water. "Miss Manning said I should stay here 
 if I had to live under a rock," he reflected. 
 
 One week: one week was all he had planned 
 for, although Mrs. Fabian had pressed him for 
 two. 
 
 What were two weeks now in prospect? He 
 knew his aunt would welcome him for an indefi- 
 nite stay, but Kathleen doubtless had plans for 
 guests, and moreover Edgar's advent was but 
 one little night away. He shuddered at the 
 
 341
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 prospect of the gilded youth's questions and 
 comments on his work. 
 
 He decided to walk around the edge of the 
 island. Then he looked back toward Mrs. 
 Wright's house. He remembered the look of 
 disappointment in the depths of Eliza's shade 
 hat when he had paid the fleeting visit on his 
 way to the wharf. 
 
 "I'll goto see her once more," he reflected, 
 "and have her off my mind, for I'm afraid 
 I shall forget when I get a little deeper in 
 here." 
 
 Accordingly, he moved off with long swing- 
 ing steps through the soft deep grass, and Mrs. 
 Wright saw him coming. She was sitting with 
 her book on the rustic bench which took the 
 place of piazza at the old farmhouse. 
 
 "Eliza," she called, "your young man is 
 coming back." 
 
 It was an hour afterward that Mrs. Fabian, 
 her grudge against the swallows mollified by a 
 nap, came downstairs to the living-room to 
 reconnoitre. All was so still that she knew that 
 either those dull birds were still dawdling, or 
 else that her young people had seen them off 
 and were away again. 
 
 She peered from a window into the glass 
 342
 
 Flashes of Blue 
 
 enclosure, and to her surprise saw her daughter 
 asleep in the hammock. How slender and pale 
 looked the sleeping face. 
 
 " Poor child . She 's worn out, I wonder where 
 Phil is." 
 
 As if the gaze had disturbed the sleeper, 
 Kathleen turned on her pillow and opened her 
 eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian promptly left the house and 
 came out to her swinging couch. 
 
 "So you took forty winks, too," she said, 
 casting a glance up at the deserted nest. 
 "Where's Phil?" 
 
 "I don't know," returned Kathleen lan- 
 guidly. "I scarcely know where I am." 
 
 "I hope I did n't wake you, gazing from the 
 window; but it's no use your trying to sleep 
 again, for Cap'n James is coming up at last 
 with the trunks. Kathleen, I've had a bright 
 idea," added Mrs. Fabian alertly. 
 
 The girl stifled a yawn. 
 
 "You know Phil won't stay here unless he's 
 working. I'm going to have him do our por- 
 traits for father's Christmas present!" 
 
 Kathleen was wide awake instantly. 
 
 "It would cost so much, mother," she said. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian stared at her. "What an idea!" 
 343
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 she retorted. "Phil has n't come to enormous 
 prices yet!" 
 
 "But you would not want to pay him a small 
 price. It would n't be right." 
 
 "Since when have you become so economi- 
 cal?" asked Mrs. Fabian, laughing. "After 
 Christmas, I must tell your father of this talk. 
 How he will laugh. You and Edgar should be 
 shaken up. Phil's sketches of his mother show 
 his gift for getting likeness. I don't know 
 whether he has ever painted a portrait, but I 
 have every confidence in him." 
 
 "Then have yours done, dear," said Kathleen. 
 "You're looking as well as usual, but nothing 
 would hire me to have my lantern jaws per- 
 petuated." 
 
 "Oh, a week or two of this will make you 
 bloom, child." 
 
 "Yes, especially my nose," returned the girl. 
 
 Her thoughts were working fast. She had 
 been happy in the thought that they were now 
 in the place where neither her mother nor 
 Edgar could commit themselves to any large 
 expense. Her father had said that by autumn 
 he should know where he stood. She could not 
 say any more, however, for Captain James's 
 wagon had arrived, and Mrs. Fabian went to 
 344
 
 Flashes of Blue 
 
 see to the disposition of the trunks and to give 
 her caretaker explicit low-voiced directions as 
 to examining for and eliminating any and all 
 birds' nests found in future on the premises, 
 and at last she brought him around to the wind- 
 break to point out the one he was to remove 
 now, with all its traces, at the earliest possible 
 moment. 
 
 Kathleen, still lying, her hands clasped under 
 her head, looked up at him with a smile. 
 
 " I 'm so glad you did n't notice that nest any 
 sooner, Cap'n James," she said. "You might 
 have disturbed it." 
 
 Captain James chewed a wisp of grass and 
 favored the girl with a wink. 
 
 "It wasn't like you," said Mrs. Fabian, 
 with elaborately gentle rebuke, "not to have 
 this wind-break cleaner. Look at the windows." 
 
 " I had Betsy Eaton wash 'em on the outside," 
 said the captain imperturbably, and winked at 
 Kathleen again. 
 
 "It was fine of you, Cap'n James," she 
 laughed. "They flew to-day, and I was at the 
 party." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian looked from one to the other of 
 the laughing ones, in injured dignity. 
 
 "Very well," she said at last; "now, if you're 
 345
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 quite sure it won't disturb the plans of man or 
 beast, Cap'n James, I 'd like to have this wind- 
 break cleaned." 
 
 "'Nuff said," returned the man, and once 
 more grinning down at the girl's laughing face, 
 he went back to his helper sitting on the wagon.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 ELIZA SURRENDERS 
 
 ELIZA had begun some work in the kitchen 
 which she could not at once leave when Mrs. 
 Wright called her, so the latter brought Phil 
 into the house. 
 
 "No wonder Eliza did n't expect me twice a 
 day," he said. "What an interesting old place 
 this is." 
 
 "Yes," answered Mrs. Wright; "and we are 
 making the most of the few days that it will 
 still be all ours. Miss Jane Foster, who owns 
 it, comes almost immediately to take possession 
 and receive her summer boarders." 
 
 "But won't that be a rest for you?" 
 
 "Scarcely; for Eliza has taken such a labor- 
 ing oar that I live in the lap of luxury, so far as 
 work is concerned." 
 
 Eliza came in, in time to hear this statement. 
 "Don't you believe it, Mr. Philip. She's the 
 busy bee of the house; but we've both had just 
 enough to do." 
 
 "Eliza!" exclaimed Phil, approaching and 
 
 347
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 taking both her hard hands. "Why, I did n't 
 half see you in that shade hat! You look like 
 a new being." 
 
 Eliza laughed and colored under the scrutiny. 
 Her added pounds had distributed themselves 
 comfortably and becomingly. She did, indeed, 
 bear little resemblance to the haggard creature 
 of the autumn. 
 
 "Why, let me look at you!" went on the 
 artist gladly. "You've robbed me of a whole 
 lot of good material. If you posed for me now, 
 it would amount to nothing more than the 
 portrait of a lady." 
 
 Mrs. Wright laughed, well pleased, and 
 amused, too, at the embarrassed manner in 
 which Eliza pulled away her hands. 
 
 "But you stay on here, I suppose, just the 
 same," said Phil, turning back to his hostess. 
 
 "Oh, yes. I've taken a room for Violet, my 
 niece, and Miss Foster has made a business 
 arrangement with Eliza to be her helper, so the 
 only great difference will be the arrival of new 
 people." 
 
 Considerations immediately ran through 
 Phil's head of this home as a possibility for 
 his prolonged stay. Second thought, however, 
 pictured the going and coming of summer 
 
 348
 
 Eliza Surrenders 
 
 boarders and the impossibility of privacy. 
 Besides, he could not afford it. 
 
 He picked up a small black book which his 
 eye had caught lying beside the Bible on Mrs. 
 Wright's table. 
 
 "Oh!" he said, raising his eyebrows and 
 looking at her with a smile. 
 
 "Do you know it?" she asked. 
 
 "My mother lives by it," he returned. 
 
 "Then her boy does, I'm sure," said Mrs. 
 Wright. 
 
 "He tries to," answered Phil. "I was just 
 thinking now of our philosophy, and trying to 
 know that, if it's right for me to stay on this 
 island, it will come to pass. I feel as if I could 
 do a lot of work here." 
 
 "Mrs. Fabian will have too much of a house- 
 ful?" 
 
 "Perhaps not; but there could n't be any 
 independence in that; and I could n't bring 
 paint rags into her spick-and-span cottage." 
 
 "Take board here," suggested Mrs. Wright. 
 
 Phil shook his head. " I don't want to give 
 the price for a long pull. Miss Manning pro- 
 phesied that I should live under a rock rather 
 than leave. I '11 go rock-hunting some day." 
 
 "There must be some way, Mr. Philip!" 
 349
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 exclaimed Eliza, who had listened attentively. 
 The intensity of her manner reminded Phil of 
 other days. 
 
 "You should have more stables on the island," 
 he returned. "It's very thoughtless of you." 
 
 "We can all help him, remember, Eliza," 
 said Mrs. Wright "you know I've told you 
 by thinking right." 
 
 "Goodness knows, I'd think anything that'd 
 keep him here," returned Eliza bluntly. "He's 
 as white as a candle, and it makes me sick to 
 think o' the perspiration runnin' into his eyes. 
 What d'you want me to think? I'll say the 
 moon's made o' green cheese, if it'll do any 
 good." 
 
 "No, it only does good to think the truth. 
 It's law. You remember how I've told you 
 that we live under laws and they are n't material 
 ones? Our thoughts are our whole concern. 
 Get thought right, and action takes care of 
 itself. You're stopping up one of the chan- 
 nels through which good can come to you and 
 yours. You consider Mr. Sidney one of yours, 
 I'm sure." 
 
 Eliza averted her eyes uncomfortably. 
 
 "Yes," went on Mrs. Wright, smiling, "I'm 
 speaking right out in meeting, because you Ve 
 350
 
 Eliza Surrenders 
 
 told me that Mr. Sidney knows of your antag- 
 onism." 
 
 "She's talkin' about the barrel," remarked 
 Eliza dryly. 
 
 "Oh, the barrel!" laughed Phil. "I'd forgot- 
 ten about that. So has Aunt Isabel, I fancy." 
 
 "I'll bet a cookie she went to your room and 
 tried to get it," said Eliza, eyeing him shrewdly. 
 
 Phil nodded. "Yes, she did." 
 
 Eliza struck her hands together with satis- 
 faction. "I'd give more'n a cookie to have 
 seen her face when she got there," she said 
 triumphantly. 
 
 "No, I was n't talking about the barrel," 
 continued Mrs. Wright. "That is your own 
 affair: whether you care to keep those family 
 treasures or to give them up. I was speaking in 
 general about your forgiving Mrs. Fabian as 
 you would be forgiven, and banishing discord 
 from the atmosphere. How can you tell how 
 much sunlight that cloud is holding back from 
 this dear boy of Mrs. Ballard's?" 
 
 Eliza stared into space and bit her lip. The 
 three were standing in a group near the table. 
 
 "Well, sit down, anyway," she said briefly, 
 and they did so. 
 
 Phil saw that there was method in Mrs. 
 
 351
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Wright's choosing of this particular opportun- 
 ity to make a point. Hers was the face of a 
 peacemaker and it was easy to see what pain 
 she would find in discord. 
 
 Now she turned to Phil and asked him about 
 his father and mother, and he told her of the 
 mountains, and his periodical longing for them. 
 This place, he added, gave him a similar sense of 
 exhilaration. It seemed as if he were breathing 
 again for the first time since November. 
 
 "YouVe got to stay," said Eliza nervously; 
 "that's all there is about it." 
 
 He smiled. "The bark on a tree is n't as 
 tight as I am," he replied. "I've planned to 
 make my money do just so much." 
 
 "'With God all things are possible,'" re- 
 marked Mrs. Wright. 
 
 "Yes," he laughed; "I'm going to look for a 
 cave with a skylight." 
 
 Eliza's thoughts were painfully busy. The 
 constant dropping of the winter had made an 
 impression on their adamant. Supposing there 
 should be anything in what Mrs. Wright just 
 said. Supposing God were to punish her for 
 continuing to hate an enemy; punish her by 
 holding back some benefit from her dear one's 
 protege. 
 
 352
 
 Eliza Surrenders 
 
 She stirred around in her chair during a 
 pause. "I've been thinkin' to-day," she said 
 carelessly, "that I did n't exactly know what I 
 was goin' to do with that barrel. I've got to 
 bring it down from upstairs before Jennie gets 
 here." 
 
 "Let me do that for you," said Phil quickly. 
 "I've been honing to lift something heavy all 
 the afternoon. I've felt as if I could lick my 
 weight in wild cats ever since dinner." 
 
 He started up with such eagerness that Eliza 
 mechanically arose and went to the stairs, Phil 
 following; and Mrs. Wright, a hopeful light in 
 her eyes, looked on. 
 
 "We've got to get these rooms ready for 
 boarders," explained Eliza as they went up to 
 the second story. "It's real clever of you to 
 lug the barrel down for me." 
 
 Phil smiled covertly as he recognized the old 
 bone of contention with the flourishing address 
 he had executed, and he steered it down the 
 narrow stairs successfully. 
 
 Eliza had preceded him nimbly. 
 
 As soon as she reached the living-room, Mrs. 
 Wright approached her. 
 
 "Where are you going to put it?" she asked, 
 looking wistfully at Eliza. 
 
 353
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Oh, anywhere," replied the latter with 
 bravado. 
 
 "Jane would n't like it in here, of course," 
 remarked Mrs. Wright. 
 
 "Well, I suppose I have a right to my own 
 room, haven't I?" Eliza retorted sharply. 
 
 "Wouldn't it be very much in the way, 
 dear? You have it fixed so pretty in there." 
 
 "Well, what's the reason it can't stand in the 
 shed?" asked Eliza, with defiance. 
 
 Mrs. Wright shook her head. " 'Where moth 
 and rust doth corrupt,'" she said slowly. 
 
 Phil now had the barrel down, and was stand- 
 ing beside it, waiting. 
 
 "Whither away, now?" he asked. 
 
 "Eliza," said Mrs. Wright, "there's a wheel- 
 barrow out in the shed." 
 
 Eliza colored and bit her lip. "Do you 
 know," she said, turning to Phil, "Mrs. Wright 
 wants me to give those things to Mrs. Fabian?" 
 
 "Well, it would tickle Aunt Isabel almost to 
 pieces," he admitted. 
 
 "Do you see any reason or justice in it?" 
 
 Phil smiled. " It 's a luxury to do an unreason- 
 able thing once in a while," he answered. 
 
 "If I thought it would do you the least bit 
 o* good," said Eliza, "I'd do anything. I'd 
 
 354
 
 Eliza Surrenders 
 
 find a white hair in a black dog's tail and burn 
 it by the light o' the moon, at midnight," she 
 added scornfully; "but unluckily I ain't super- 
 
 stitious." 
 
 Phil glanced at Mrs. Wright's sweet, earnest 
 face, and understood that she had thought 
 ieeply of the prospect of discord between the 
 two cottages. 
 
 "Come on, Eliza," he said, with boyish 
 enthusiasm, "it would be great fun to see Aunt 
 Isabel's face. Even if you were after revenge, 
 coals of fire are a mighty punishment, and if 
 you're only being magnanimous and letting by- 
 gones be bygones why, who knows but it will 
 be the means of my finding the cave with the 
 skylight?" 
 
 Eliza turned away suddenly from his laugh- 
 ing eyes. "All right," she said, "take it! I'll 
 show you where the wheelbarrow is; and when 
 you 've got it across that hubbly field you won't 
 be looking for wild cats to fight." 
 
 "Oh, but you'll steady the barrel" 
 
 "Will I! Well, you can guess again, young 
 man." Eliza's eyes flashed. 
 
 "Oh, pshaw," he said. "Don't make two 
 bites of a cherry. If the barrel goes, you 
 
 go." 
 
 355
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Eliza met his gay, determined look with 
 exasperation. 
 
 "This is persecution," she declared angrily; 
 then added beseechingly, "Don't make me, 
 Mr. Philip." 
 
 "I could n't let you miss it," he returned. 
 "We have the white hair of the black dog, but, 
 you see, we have to burn it." 
 
 Eliza looked appealingly toward Mrs. Wright, 
 whose face was expectant. 
 
 "Dear Eliza," she said. 
 
 "Don't you 'dear' me," snapped Eliza. 
 "Come this way, Mr. Philip." 
 
 She marched out of the room, and Mrs. 
 Wright seized and squeezed Phil's hand as he 
 passed. He gave her a laughing look. 
 
 Soon the march across the field began. Mrs. 
 Wright watched them from the window. Eliza, 
 her shade hat tied primly down beneath her 
 chin, steadied the barrel when Phil's route 
 encountered too great an irregularity. 
 
 "Dear martyr," thought Mrs. Wright, who 
 had caught a glimpse of her companion's ex- 
 pression as they moved away. "She does love 
 that beautiful boy. I hope her reward will come 
 
 soon." 
 
 Captain James had just driven back down 
 356
 
 Eliza Surrenders 
 
 the hill after bringing up the trunks when Phil 
 and Eliza reached the shaven sward about the 
 Fabian cottage. 
 
 Phil dropped the wheelbarrow at the steps. 
 
 "Wait here a minute, Eliza, till I recon- 
 noitre," he said. "This was a sleeping castle 
 when I left." 
 
 "Now, if they're asleep- " said Eliza, has- 
 tily and hopefully; but Phil had disappeared 
 quietly around the corner which led to the wind- 
 break. As he approached, the sound of voices 
 mingled with the tide, so he advanced with 
 confidence. 
 
 Kathleen was sitting on the edge of the ham- 
 mock facing her mother, who looked around as 
 Phil came in view. 
 
 "Here we are, awake at last," she said. 
 "Where have you been? How well you look! 
 You have quite a flush." 
 
 He came close to her. "I've been helping 
 Eliza Brewster bring you a present," he said. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian was all attention, but a look of 
 resentment spread over her countenance. 
 
 " She is here with me," went on Phil, low and 
 rapidly. "It means a good deal, you know. I 
 hope you will be very nice to her." 
 
 Kathleen, alertly comprehending, rose from 
 357
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 the hammock and moved past her mother and 
 around to where Eliza stood by the steps, 
 schooling herself. 
 
 "You can't get out of a barrel what ain't in 
 xt," she reflected. " T ain't any use tappin' a 
 barrel o' vinegar and bein' mad 'cause maple 
 syrup don't come out." 
 
 "You scarcely spoke to me this morning," 
 said Kathleen pleasantly, "you were so glad to 
 see Mr. Sidney." 
 
 Eliza shook hands awkwardly. Kathleen 
 Fabian seemed even to her prejudice to ring 
 true. "She don't inherit vinegar," thought 
 Eliza. " I don't know why I should n't give her 
 the benefit o' the doubt. Maybe she is maple 
 clear through." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian now came in stately fashion 
 around the corner into view. Her eyes caught 
 sight of the barrel and glistened. It was almost 
 impossible to believe that 
 
 "How do you do, Eliza?" she said, in melli- 
 fluous tones. "Mr. Sidney tells me you wish to 
 see me " 
 
 "Yes, about this barrel," interrupted Eliza, 
 
 with nervous haste. "It's some o' the things 
 
 Mrs. Ballard left me that I thought you'd 
 
 enjoy havin 1 . It's her silver and china, just as 
 
 358
 
 Eliza Surrenders 
 
 I packed 'em in New York. I have n't taken 
 out anything." 
 
 "Why, really, Eliza, do you know, I appreci- 
 ate that very much," said Mrs. Fabian gra- 
 ciously, "and I shall enjoy them far more here 
 than I could in New York. I " 
 
 "Yes,'m," said Eliza, "I've got to hurry 
 back to get supper. We have a real early 
 tea." 
 
 "No, not until you've come in and seen 
 where Aunt Mary's things are to be. I really 
 could n't allow you to go without sitting down 
 
 a minute to rest." 
 
 "No, no, thank you," said Eliza, more hur- 
 riedly. 
 
 "Perhaps you did come in and see the cot- 
 tage while it was being prepared for us." 
 
 "No, ma'am," returned Eliza, arrested in 
 flight. "I've never been as near to it as this." 
 
 "I wish you would come in, then," said 
 Kathleen. "We think it's very pretty." 
 
 So Eliza yielded, and Phil followed her into 
 the house, showing her the views from the win- 
 dows, and before she came out again she had 
 exchanged remarks with Mrs. Fabian on the 
 increased price of lobsters and other practical 
 subjects. 
 
 359
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Really quite human," commented Mrs. 
 Fabian when the guest had departed. 
 
 "And how well she looks," said Kathleen. 
 
 "Now," remarked her mother complacently, 
 "you see my own has come to me. I knew 
 Eliza was half-crazy last autumn. I just antici- 
 pate pulling over those funny old things." 
 
 Meanwhile Phil and Eliza were retracing 
 their steps across the field. 
 
 "There! that did n't hurt much, did it?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "I haven't got much use for her," replied 
 Eliza, "but I do believe Kathleen Fabian's a 
 sensible girl." 
 
 "Our friend Edgar is coming to-morrow," 
 remarked Phil. 
 
 Eliza looked up at him shrewdly from be- 
 neath the shade hat. "Is that the reason you 
 want to be a cave man?" 
 
 Phil laughed. "Perhaps it's one," he ad- 
 mitted. "He's a rather well pervasive 
 person, we'll say. I need elbow room to work. 
 Is n't this a great place, Eliza?" The speaker's 
 eyes swept the surroundings. "You're farther 
 from the sea than the Fabians. You have a 
 grand orchard, I see," added Phil, laughing; "or 
 does it belong to that little cottage over there ? " 
 
 360
 
 Eliza Surrenders 
 
 "Where? Oh, you mean the chicken-house?" 
 
 "Chicken-house! Are the hens here so high- 
 toned they have to have windows besides their 
 roosts? There are places out West where the 
 reason for the cows giving little milk is said to 
 be because they become so enchanted with the 
 scenery that they forget to eat. I suppose those 
 hens go up to the second floor to watch the sun- 
 set." 
 
 Phil looked curiously at the little story and a 
 half building guarded by the balm-of-Gilead 
 trees. 
 
 "Law, there ain't any hens there," replied 
 Eliza. "A pig wouldn't live there now. I'm 
 itchin' to burn it down, it's so dirty." 
 
 "Nobody lives there?" asked Phil. 
 
 "No, not since Granny Foster that it was 
 built for. She scared us children out of our wits 
 in her time, and I s'pose we pestered her, 'cause 
 of course we was imps and could n't keep away. 
 We'd rather play tricks on her than eat, but 
 only a few got their courage up to do more than 
 knock on the door and run away. That door! 
 My! to think I can walk up to it and open it. 
 It seems wonderful even now." 
 
 "Let's go and open it," said Phil, eagerly, 
 beginning to stride in that direction. 
 361
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Oh, no, Mr. Philip, keep away. It's too 
 dirty and musty in there for words. Jennie 
 quit keepin' hens a long time ago, and I guess 
 she just let it rot away there, 'cause 't wa'n't 
 worth cleanin'!" 
 
 "Oh, but I want to see where little Eliza was 
 scared," persisted Phil, hurrying so fast that 
 Eliza was obliged to run after him. She stood 
 away a little, though, with her long nose lifted 
 while he opened the door and his eager eyes 
 swept the interior. 
 
 "Don't you go in there, oh, don't, Mr. 
 Philip," she said. " I can tell you just what there 
 is, a parlor and a kitchen, and a rough kind o' 
 steps that go upstairs where there's only half a 
 floor. It would make a grand bonfire. I wish 
 Jennie 'diet us." 
 
 "She owns it, does she? The woman that's 
 going to keep your boarding-house?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; all this land's hers and the 
 orchard." 
 
 Phil closed the dingy door and walked around 
 back of the cottage. Apparently, Granny Fos- 
 ter had liked the view of the open ocean, con- 
 trary to the taste of most of the women on the 
 island, who had good reason to dread its mighty 
 power. At any rate, while the front of the little 
 
 362
 
 Eliza Surrenders 
 
 house grew straight out of the grass, the back 
 had once boasted a piazza, which had fallen 
 away and capsized in the field which ran down 
 to the water's edge. 
 
 "What a view your old lady had!" said Phil, 
 standing still and listening to the rustling leaves 
 that whispered in the orchard. 
 
 "'T is a sightly place," said Eliza. 
 
 The artist looked with starry eyes over the 
 little cottage again and then at his companion. 
 
 "It's wonderful," he said. 
 
 "'M-h'm," agreed Eliza; "and it '11 do you all 
 the good in the world if you can only stay 
 here." 
 
 Phil's radiant smile beamed upon her. 
 
 "Why, I'm going to stay. Can't you see 
 what I'm thinking?" 
 
 "No," replied Eliza, staring at him curiously. 
 
 "I've found my cave." He waved his hand 
 toward the chicken-house. "Do you think 
 Jennie '11 let me have it?" 
 
 "Mr. Philip!" exclaimed Eliza distractedly, 
 clasping her hard hands as his meaning broke 
 upon her. "There ain't any use to talk about it 
 even! How could I ever clean that place for 
 
 you!" 
 
 I shan't let you touch it! Hurrah!" ex- 
 363
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 claimed the artist, turning a somersault in the 
 grass and coming right-side up so suddenly that 
 Eliza blinked. 
 
 "Oh, my sorrows and cares!" she mourned; 
 "it's the craziest idea" 
 
 "When, when did you say she's coming?" 
 
 "To-morrow. Dear, dear!" Eliza was half 
 laughing and half crying. 
 
 "Then I've only to wait one night. Oh, it's 
 too good to be true, like everything else that 
 happens to me." Another flight of long arms 
 and legs accompanied by a whoop of joy, and 
 once more Phil was right-side up and catching 
 Eliza by the arm. 
 
 "Let's go and tell Mrs. Wright," he ex- 
 claimed, and hurried his companion toward the 
 farmhouse, where Mrs. Wright was sitting on 
 the rustic bench. 
 
 "He's crazy," declared Eliza. "Tell him so. 
 There must be lots o' better places. That 
 would n't smell good in a thousand years." 
 
 But when Phil had divulged his great plan, 
 Mrs. Wright nodded. 
 
 "The very thing," she said. "I'm sure Jane 
 will let you use it free, and be glad to have it 
 put in shape. Then you can take as many or 
 as few meals here as you like." 
 
 364
 
 Eliza Surrenders 
 
 Her calm, happy approval closed Eliza's lips 
 in a desperate silence. 
 
 "I must rush back to my hostesses," said 
 Phil. "Hurrah for us, Eliza. I'll go to every 
 boat to meet Jennie." 
 
 He started across the field on a long, swing- 
 ing run. 
 
 "Splendid boy," mused Mrs. Wright, aloud, 
 looking after him. 
 
 Eliza had sunk on the bench, dumb. 
 
 "Now, then," her friend turned to her; "see 
 how you Ve helped him." 
 
 Eliza's eyes snapped. "Do you mean to 
 say," she retorted, speaking fast and defiantly, 
 "that if I had n't gone over to Mrs. Fabian's 
 and given her the dishes, he would n't 'a' found 
 that chicken-house?" 
 
 Mrs. Wright smiled and shook her head. 
 
 "There's only one thing I know, Eliza," she 
 said with deliberation, "and that is that Love 
 is Omnipotence, and that in every problem we 
 mortals have the choice of looking down into 
 error and discord, or up into Truth and Har- 
 mony." 
 
 Eliza's breath caught in her throat, and she 
 felt so strangely stirred that she rose abruptly 
 and went into the house.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 THE SINGER 
 
 THE combination of at last having a definite 
 aim in life, and the cutting rebuke received in 
 his father's library, had caused Edgar Fabian 
 to wake up. 
 
 On the hot morning when he took the train 
 for Portland, he even looked a little pale from 
 the unwonted vigil of the night before. As he 
 tossed on his bed in the small hours, he had 
 fretted at the heat, but it was not temperature 
 that made him survey the causes for his father's 
 drastic words; and he recalled the emotion 
 which Kathleen had not been able to conceal 
 with a sort of affectionate dismay. Kathleen 
 was a good sort, after all. She had worked for 
 him, he knew, and mitigated the situation so 
 far as she could. 
 
 "Father wants to be shown, does he?" he 
 thought, clenching his teeth. "Well, I'll show 
 him. I will." 
 
 His soul was still smarting when he boarded 
 the train in the breathless station and the 
 366
 
 The Singer 
 
 porter carried his suitcase to his chair in the day 
 coach. 
 
 A group of girls were standing about the 
 neighboring seat, but he did not regard them. 
 <Dne of them observed him, and for her the ther- 
 mometer suddenly went up ten degrees more. 
 
 "Hurry girls, you must go," she said, softly 
 and peremptorily, moving with them to the 
 end of the car. "How I wish you did n't have 
 to!" Then, as they reached the door, the flushed 
 one squeezed their arms. "That was Mr. Fa- 
 bian, girls!" she added. 
 
 "Where? Where?" they ejaculated, looking 
 wildly about. 
 
 "Back there in the very next chair to mine. 
 Oh, get off, dears." 
 
 They regarded the rosy face. 
 
 "Slyboots!" exclaimed Roxana. 
 
 "Indeed, I knew nothing of it!" declared 
 Violet. 
 
 "Very well." Regina spoke in hasty exhor- 
 tation. "The sun shines hard enough for you 
 to make all the hay there is. I Ve a great mind 
 to throw a pump after you!" 
 
 The friends slipped off just in time, and 
 Violet waved them a laughing adieu; then her 
 face sobered while her eyes shone. She could 
 367
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 not go back to her place at once. The combina- 
 tion was more than flesh and blood could endure 
 nonchalantly: her work finished, she starting 
 for the island earlier than she had hoped, with 
 the joyful anticipation of surprising her aunt, 
 and, instead of journeying alone, to find iht 
 man beside her. 
 
 Violet was extremely indignant with herself 
 for calling Edgar the man. Never one thing had 
 he done to deserve it. There was no one on earth 
 to whom in reality she was more indifferent. 
 She allowed conductors, porter, passengers, 
 and luggage to stumble by and over her in the 
 narrow passage while she reflected upon the 
 utter uncongeniality of herself and Edgar 
 Fabian; the gulf fixed between their lots, their 
 habits, their tastes. A man who was so arti- 
 ficial that he could n't like Brewster's Island. 
 How could any girl with genuine feeling do 
 more than politely endure him! 
 
 Violet finally, having been bumped and trod- 
 den on until she realized that she was being 
 scowled at by all comers, stepped under the 
 portiere into the ladies' room and looked in the 
 glass. The neatest and trimmest of visions 
 regarded her. 
 
 "I don't care a snap how I look, but I am 
 368
 
 The Singer 
 
 dreadfully warm," she thought, and taking a 
 powder-puff from her mesh bag, she raised her 
 veil and cooled her crimson cheeks and dabbed 
 her nose; then she pinned the veil back closely; 
 and gave her bright eyes a challenging and 
 warning gaze. 
 
 "If you dare!" she murmured, then moved 
 out into the aisle again and sought her place. 
 
 Edgar had hung up his hat, his back was to 
 the car, and his gloomy eyes gazed out of the 
 window. Violet sank into her chair, turning its 
 back to him. "There!" she thought sternly, 
 "we can ride this way all day. There's not the 
 slightest necessity for recognition." 
 
 An hour passed and this seemed only too 
 true. She took up the copy of "Life" which 
 Roxana had left with her, and looked through 
 it with more grim determination than is usually 
 brought to bear upon that enlivening sheet. 
 
 Everything continued to be quiet behind her. 
 She wondered if Edgar had gone to sleep; but 
 what was it to her what he was doing? She 
 became conscious that there were more strokes 
 on the illustrations than the artists had in- 
 tended. 
 
 "I must take off my veil!" she reflected. 
 
 Of course, no girl can take off her veil and hat 
 369
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 without making some stir. She hoped she 
 should not attract her neighbor's attention by 
 these movements. She did n't. 
 
 At last all was comfortably arranged, and 
 she picked up the periodical which had been 
 Regina's offering and looked at her chatelaine 
 watch, wondering how much time had been 
 wasted already. 
 
 She never before heard of a man who stayed 
 in his seat on the train unless he was an invalid. 
 One would think he would at least walk up and 
 down once in a while. She turned her chair a 
 little away from the window and toward the 
 aisle. A fat man who was her vis-a-vis glanced 
 at her, and finding the glance most satisfactory, 
 looked again, long enough to make her aware 
 of him. She swung slowly back toward the 
 window, but not so far that she could not com- 
 mand movements in the aisle. 
 
 Of course, Mr. Fabian was asleep. He had 
 probably been turning night into day in the 
 festivities which society events had recorded 
 as preceding Mrs. Larrabee's departure for 
 Europe. 
 
 The thought was a tonic. She loved to realize 
 how insignificant and selfish was the life this 
 young man led; making him not worth a second 
 
 370
 
 The Singer 
 
 thought to a womanly woman who scorned to 
 associate with any man to whom she could not 
 look up, and he had n't shaved off that blond 
 pointed mustache, either; how she despised 
 mustaches. 
 
 "Why why, Miss Manning." The inter- 
 ested greeting broke forth directly above her, 
 and she started and looked up straight into the 
 scorned mustache. "How wonderful," said 
 Edgar. "I was just wondering who liked the 
 'Century' better upside down than right-side 
 up; then I noticed that whoever it was had 
 pretty hair, so I looked again and saw it was 
 you." 
 
 "I" stammered Violet, blushing violently 
 and dropping the magazine, "I think I was 
 so sleepy I did n't know I where did you 
 spring from?" 
 
 "Just now from the smoking-room, but I'm 
 here, right here in this chair next to you. Can 
 you beat it? Are you for the island?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I, too. Great that we should meet. Let me 
 turn your chair around. I was never so glad to 
 see you." 
 
 "Why? Were you bored?" Violet's tone 
 and manner of courteous indifference were so 
 371
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 excellent that they deceived the fat man, who 
 regarded the contretemps over the top of his 
 paper and felt quite chivalrously impatient of 
 the "fresh guy" who had interrupted the 
 young traveller's meditations; and heartily 
 commiserated the girl for the coincidence which 
 had made her the prey of an acquaintance. 
 
 "No, not more bored than usual," replied 
 Edgar, having arranged the chairs at the best 
 angle for sociability, "but if you talk to me I 
 may forget how I want to smoke." 
 
 Violet raised her eyebrows. "Oh, I'm to be 
 useful and not ornamental," she said with an 
 icily sweet smile. 
 
 "You can't help being ornamental," said 
 Edgar, drumming nervously on the arm of his 
 chair. "There, that's the last compliment I'm 
 going to give you. I warn you. I'm a bear 
 to-day. I'm sorry for you." The speaker was 
 pale and Violet laid both pallor and nervous- 
 ness to the door of the vivacious lady about to 
 sail for foreign shores. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, looking at him blandly. "I 
 saw that your charming friend Mrs.Larrabee is 
 leaving." 
 
 Edgar looked around quickly. "Yes, she's 
 leaving. I bade her good-bye last night." 
 372
 
 The Singer 
 
 " Is that why you wish to smoke all the time ?" 
 asked Violet, with cooing gentleness. 
 
 "All the time! Great Scott! I've had just 
 one cigarette since I got up." 
 
 "You said you had just come from the smok- 
 ing-room." 
 
 "Yes, but I hadn't been in. That's the 
 trouble. I 'm cutting it out." 
 
 "Why? Have you made a virtuous vow?" 
 
 " I 'm afraid I 'm in no mood for joking this 
 morning." Edgar frowned and twisted his 
 mustache. 
 
 Violet spoke with laughing sweetness. 
 
 "Nothing is more easy than to escape it," 
 she said, and deftly turned her chair with its 
 back to him. 
 
 He seized it by the arm and twisted it around 
 again. 
 
 "No, you don't," he said. "Forgive me; you 
 know the stereotyped advice to newly married 
 couples about the two bears; 'bear and forbear/ 
 don't you ? Well, remember it, please." 
 
 "I don't see the parallel," said Violet coolly; 
 "and anyway, is the advice directed entirely 
 at the woman?" 
 
 "No, I'm bearing with you now for turning 
 your back to me, you who are going to teach 
 373
 
 me to clog when we reach the island." He gave 
 her the smile designed to melt the icy heart. 
 
 "In consideration," returned Violet, "for a 
 continuous ripple of song." 
 
 Edgar suddenly looked important, and gazed 
 out of the window. Then he turned back to the 
 girl who was regarding him. 
 
 "What do you think of my voice hon- 
 estly?" he asked. 
 
 " I think it is one of the most beautiful I have 
 ever heard," she answered promptly. 
 
 He nodded slowly. "I fished to some pur- 
 pose, did n't I," he said gravely. "Well, since 
 you really think that, and I Ve always admired 
 your sincerity, you may be interested to know 
 that I have given up business in order to culti- 
 vate it." 
 
 There being nobody present who was em- 
 ployed in Mr. Fabian's office, the dignity of this 
 statement was not impaired by hilarity; and 
 Violet, greatly impressed, clasped her hands. 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad," she said. "All your 
 friends will be so glad." 
 
 Had she known it, she might have added, 
 "and all your business associates"; but neither 
 word nor look minimized the enthusiasm of the 
 moment. 
 
 374
 
 The Singer 
 
 Enough of Violet's faith and admiration 
 shone in her speaking eyes to fall like balm on 
 Edgar's wounded soul. He began to heal under 
 it; began to mount into his wonted atmosphere 
 of assurance. 
 
 " I Ve been studying ever since January with 
 Mazzini. I've kept quiet about it because, 
 after all," - the speaker spread his hands in a 
 modest gesture, "he might be mistaken in 
 his extremely enthusiastic estimate." 
 
 "Oh, no, no!" said Violet earnestly. Edgar 
 drank more healing from the fountain of her 
 eyes. "What shall you do? Go into opera?" 
 
 "I don't know yet," replied the aspirant, 
 with the air of one who was holding Mr. Ham- 
 merstein in the hollow of his hand, uncertain 
 whether to throw him over or to be gracious. 
 "I'm very much alone in this," he added, 
 meeting the girl's gaze with an air of confi- 
 dence. "Of course my father and mother and 
 sister are willing; in fact, they are pleased that 
 I have undertaken this." 
 
 "Think of giving up smoking!" exclaimed 
 Violet. "What a sacrifice that means to a man! 
 I should think your family would see by that 
 how in earnest you are." 
 
 "Yes, they believe I am in earnest; but when 
 
 375
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 one in a family is keenly temperamental and 
 the others are not, there are only certain planes 
 on which they can meet, you understand?" 
 
 " By all means ! " Violet understood perfectly. 
 
 " I have certain ideas that I never divulge to 
 them. They would only laugh. What would it 
 mean to them if I were to say that I had purple 
 moods and red moods " 
 
 "Probably nothing," returned Violet, quickly 
 and with close attention. "Black and green 
 and blue are the only common ones." 
 
 Edgar looked at her suspiciously. Had the 
 fountain of healing admiration vanished, and 
 was she laughing at him? Not at all. She was 
 regarding him with a respect and awe which he 
 could not doubt. 
 
 "Explain the others to me. Do you think 
 you could?" she asked. 
 
 "I'm afraid not," he answered gently, "but, 
 well, for instance, while in the purple mood I 
 could never learn to clog. Does that mean any- 
 thing to you?" 
 
 "Ah, yes," returned Violet fervently. "I 
 see. You would be too intense." 
 
 "Exactly. In the red, I might. It would 
 depend on which way it took me." 
 
 His listener nodded earnestly. "Yes, yes. 
 376
 
 The Singer 
 
 A berserk rage is red. They always see red in 
 books." 
 
 "But so is a glowing sunset red," said Edgar. 
 "The red of joy. I see you understand. Oh, 
 what rest it is to have people understand! " 
 
 Violet glowed. Some memory recurred to 
 her. "Does Mr. Sidney know about this?" 
 she asked. 
 
 Edgar shrugged his shoulders. "He is at the 
 island with my people. They may have told 
 him." 
 
 The girl's rosy lips set. "Now," she won- 
 dered, "would he chuckle over foolish sketches 
 of conceited robins! At all events, he would 
 very soon give it up." 
 
 The two travellers had a wonderful day to- 
 gether, undaunted by heat and cinders. 
 
 Edgar gave Violet as dainty a luncheon as cir- 
 cumstances permitted, and when they reached 
 Portland too late for the last boat, he left her 
 at her hotel with the promise to call for her in 
 the morning. 
 
 The boat they took next day was the same 
 one which bore Miss Jane Foster to her summer 
 home; so when, after the cooling ride down the 
 bay, they arrived at Brewster's Island and saw 
 Philip Sidney and Eliza Brewster waiting with 
 377
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Kathleen, Edgar pointed Eliza out to Violet 
 with amusement. 
 
 "I wonder how Sidney enjoys his shadow," 
 he remarked, "I suppose she's trailing him all 
 over the place." 
 
 As Mrs. Wright had no expectation of her 
 niece's early arrival, Eliza looked out with in- 
 difference from under her closely tied shade hat 
 at the fair girl in neat tailor gown who stood 
 by Edgar as the boat pulled in; and the excla- 
 mation of her companions was her first intima- 
 tion that it was Violet Manning. 
 
 Eliza stood quietly amid the greeting and 
 laughing and explanations of the young people, 
 and was introduced to Miss Manning; then she 
 caught sight of Jane Foster, for whose eagerly 
 expected face Phil had been gazing over the 
 heads of everybody, notwithstanding that he 
 had no idea what she looked like. 
 
 "Better go home with the Fabians and come 
 to us later," she suggested, speaking low to him. 
 
 "Guess again, Eliza," he returned softly. 
 Then he turned to Kathleen. "I'll not inter- 
 rupt your first tete-d-tete with your brother. 
 I '11 walk up the hill with Miss Manning and see 
 Mrs. Wright's face when we appear." 
 
 Kathleen nodded her agreement, and when 
 378
 
 The Singer 
 
 they all reached the road, she opened her eyes 
 at the manner in which her brother parted from 
 Violet. Neither spoke. They clasped hands 
 and exchanged a look, which was, to say the 
 least, unusual. 
 
 "You and Miss Manning seemed to be giving 
 each other the grip," she laughed when the two 
 began their ascent slowly. "Do you belong to 
 the same secret society?" 
 
 His reply was still more amazing. "We 
 do," he answered impressively. "You guessed 
 right the very first time. That girl has more 
 sense in a minute than the general run have in 
 years." 
 
 "I always liked her," returned Kathleen, 
 wondering. 
 
 As for Philip, he carried Violet's suitcase and 
 Miss Foster's bag and received the jubilant 
 chatter of the young girl with appreciative 
 assent, casting sheep's eyes all the way up the 
 hill at the modest owner of the chicken-house, 
 who little suspected that the big handsome 
 young man who was carrying her bag cared 
 more to get one monosyllable from her than 
 for all the pleasant things this pretty girl might 
 say to him. 
 
 Mrs. Wright, busy taking Eliza's place in the 
 
 379
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 preparations for the early dinner, was not 
 watching for the arrival, and the first warning 
 she had of Violet's presence was two vigorous 
 arms being thrown around her neck. 
 
 Her first impression was that Jane Foster 
 had an attack of emotional insanity, but in a 
 moment she was returning the embrace. 
 
 "My little girl, what does this mean?" she 
 cried joyously. "Not a flower in your room. 
 Nothing ready." 
 
 "Yes, dinner is. I can smell it. Oh, Aunt 
 Amy, you and vacation, and no city and no 
 heat, and the divine island smell, and twenty- 
 four hours in the day, and seven days in the 
 week. Oh, it's too much happiness!" And 
 Violet danced back into the living-room straight 
 into the arms of Mr. Wright, who had just been 
 washing his hands for dinner. 
 
 "Right you are, Violet. No place like the 
 island," he said heartily, while Eliza and Jane 
 Foster regarded the newcomer with calm won- 
 der. How could they know the glamour that 
 was gilding all? 
 
 Phil was so preoccupied, he scarcely noticed 
 the girl's antics. His eyes were fixed with the 
 most lover-like eagerness on Jane Foster's seri- 
 ous countenance. 
 
 380
 
 The Singer 
 
 "Had you better ask her or I, Eliza?" he 
 murmured, under cover of Violet's laughter. 
 
 "You'd better not trust me," replied Eliza 
 darkly, upon which Phil interrupted Miss 
 Foster as she was starting for the stairs. 
 
 "Might I speak to you one moment before 
 you go up?" he asked. 
 
 Her calm eyes turned to him. "You want 
 board?" she asked. 
 
 "No not exactly. Would you mind com- 
 ing outside a minute. I 'd like to see you alone." 
 
 Jane Foster looked into the brilliant face, 
 wondering; then she followed him outside the 
 door. Perhaps he wanted to buy the farmhouse. 
 She had made some calculation before she 
 reached the rustic bench; but his first words 
 dashed her expectations. 
 
 "Miss Foster, I'm an artist and like them 
 all, at first, I have n't any money. I Ve been 
 wondering if you 'd let me camp down in your 
 chicken-house and do some work. What rent 
 would you want?" 
 
 Jane Foster regarded him calmly. ' "T ain't 
 habitable," she said. 
 
 "I'll make it so," he returned forcefully. 
 
 "I can't imagine" she began slowly. 
 
 don't have to," he interrupted ar- 
 381
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 dently. "Imagining is my business." He 
 beamed upon her with a smile that warmed her 
 through and through from the chill of the boat. 
 "If you haven't any other use for it just 
 now " 
 
 "Oh, 't ain't any use," she said slowly. 
 
 "Then I may?" Phil embarrassed Miss 
 Foster terribly by seizing her hand. 
 
 Violet observed them from a window. "Is 
 Mr. Sidney proposing to Miss Foster?" she 
 laughed, turning to Eliza. 
 
 "Yes, he is, exactly," returned the latter, 
 hanging up her shade hat. 
 
 "Well, I can't imagine anyone refusing him," 
 said Violet. 
 
 "I only hope she will," muttered Eliza; but 
 the devout words were scarcely out of her lips 
 when Phil came into the room like a cyclone 
 and she was seized and swung up till her 
 respectable head nearly grazed the ceiling. 
 
 "It's mine," he cried. "Hurray!" and went 
 out of the house again and across the field 
 toward the boulder cottage.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE NEW STUDIO 
 
 IN spite of the incense Edgar had been receiv- 
 ing, he was still a somewhat chastened being; 
 and he had no disagreeable remarks to make 
 about Phil when Mrs. Fabian wondered why he 
 stayed so long at the Wright cottage. He ob- 
 jected to the fact somewhat on his own account. 
 No doubt Violet was entertaining Philip. She 
 had the artistic soul and Phil was horribly good- 
 looking. It was a soothing thought that he was 
 practically penniless and that he must soon 
 return to his labors in New York. 
 
 "How long are you expecting Phil to stay 
 here?" he asked his mother after a glance or 
 two across the empty field. 
 
 "He says only a week," replied Mrs. Fabian, 
 "but I hope to make it at least two. He's daft 
 about the island." 
 
 ' "But he could n't work here," said Edgar 
 with conviction. "You've no place for oil and 
 turpentine and splotches generally." 
 
 "That's what he says," sighed Mrs. Fabian. 
 383
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "I told him this morning we'd give up the 
 summer-house to him." 
 
 Edgar faced her. "Where do I come in?" he 
 asked. "I expect the summer-house to save 
 your lives from me. I don't believe we can have 
 two artists in the family." 
 
 Kathleen caught the last words as she came 
 downstairs. "Don't worry," she said lightly. 
 "Phil will have none of us. He wants either a 
 ten-acre lot or a stable." 
 
 "Well, where is he?" asked Edgar, with some 
 irritation. "I'm as hungry as a hunter." 
 
 "And we have Aunt Mary's pretty things. 
 Eliza gave them to mother." 
 
 "You don't say so! Well, the Angel of Peace 
 has moulted a feather on this island. There, I 
 see Phil now, loping across the field. Do order 
 dinner to be served, mother." 
 
 The music-box was playing when the guest 
 entered. 
 
 "Oh, am I late?" he cried contritely, and 
 took the stairs in three bounds. 
 
 "How burned he is already!" laughed Mrs. 
 Fabian. "You will be looking like that in a few 
 days, Edgar." 
 
 The latter was standing, high-chested and 
 with repressed impatience, in an attitude his 
 
 384
 
 The New Studio 
 
 mother knew. He had not at all liked the radi- 
 ance of Phil's countenance as the latter burst 
 into the room. 
 
 "This dinner is especially ordered for you, 
 dear," said Mrs. Fabian soothingly, "from the 
 clam soup to the strawberry shortcake." 
 
 "When am I going to have any of it?" in- 
 quired Edgar. " Is it worth while to be formal 
 here?" 
 
 "Oh, he'll be down in one minute," said 
 Kathleen ; and indeed Philip soon appeared and 
 they all seated themselves. 
 
 "Last offence, really," said the guest gaily, 
 "but one must be granted a little extra license 
 when he's proposing." 
 
 The waitress had placed the filled soup-plates 
 before the family sat down ; and Edgar promptly 
 choked on his first mouthful. Violet had told 
 him of meeting Phil in Gramercy Park. Where 
 else and how often had the perfidious girl been 
 with him? 
 
 Kathleen swallowed her spoonful of soup, but 
 it was not hot enough to account for the strange 
 burning heat which suddenly travelled down her 
 spine. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian alone looked up. "Don't take 
 our breath away like that," she protested. 
 385
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Who is the woman? Violet Manning or Eliza 
 Brewster?" 
 
 "I dreamed of her all last night," returned 
 Phil, eating hungrily. "I knew she was coming, 
 and I could hardly wait to learn my fate. 
 Did n't you notice that I merely played with 
 my breakfast this morning?" 
 
 "You ate like a hunter. Did n't he, Kath- 
 leen?" 
 
 Phil laughed and raised his happy eyes to his 
 hostess. 
 
 "Well, you'd save a whole lot of dinner this 
 noon, only that she said 'Yes." ; 
 
 There was a miniature storm of hurt vanity 
 in Edgar Fabian's breast. That was the way 
 with these "lookers." Let them have scarce the 
 price of a laundry bill, yet a girl could n't resist 
 them; and that gaze of almost awed admiration 
 in Violet's eyes yesterday. It had meant no- 
 thing then but a tribute to genius. Phil should 
 not have that look at his table daily! Edgar 
 would n't stand it. He would match his singing 
 against the other's painting, and time would 
 show if Philip Sidney would have a walk-away. 
 She could n't be happy with a pauper like that, 
 and she should be saved. 
 
 As for Kathleen, she could not stop to criti- 
 386
 
 The New Studio 
 
 cize Philip's blunt announcement. Whether he 
 were jesting or in earnest his sudden words had 
 flashed an awful light upon her own sentiments. 
 
 "There's no depth to it," she thought now in 
 defence of her pain. "I know in time." 
 
 "Tell us more this minute," said Mrs. Fa- 
 bian, "and stop eating, you unromantic crea- 
 ture ! I did n't even suspect that you knew 
 Violet Manning well. You sly-boots. I 'm of- 
 fended with you." 
 
 "The lovely Violet!" exclaimed Phil, "I left 
 her having an attack of emotional insanity over 
 there." 
 
 He looked up and met a gaze from Edgar, 
 suggestive of locking horns; and remembered 
 Gramercy Park, and Violet's sudden dignity. 
 
 "But not on my account," he went on easily. 
 "My inamorata's name is Jane!" He cast his 
 eyes adoringly ceilingward. "Dear little name! 
 Quaint little name! Jane!" 
 
 The relaxation that travelled throughout 
 Kathleen's limbs was as painful and as exasper- 
 ating as the burn had been. Her eyes were fixed 
 on her soup-plate, and she smiled. 
 
 Edgar's teeth shone with the utmost glee. 
 Phil was n't such a bad sort after all. He re- 
 garded him with interest, waiting for the sequel. 
 387
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Philip Sidney, don't be idiotic," said Mrs. 
 Fabian. "My soup is getting cold waiting for 
 you to explain yourself." 
 
 "Why, Jane Foster came this morning, mo- 
 ther," said Kathleen. "I'll help you out." 
 
 "And I can really only stay with you a week, 
 Aunt Isabel," added Phil. 
 
 "She has taken you for a boarder? And all 
 this fuss is about that?" asked Mrs. Fabian. 
 "I should scarcely have thought you'd be so 
 crazy to change my house for hers." 
 
 " I know how Phil feels," said Edgar benevo- 
 lently. "He wants to feel free to make smudges." 
 
 "I do, Edgar, mind-reader that you are. Lis- 
 ten, then, all of you. I proposed to Jane that she 
 let me use her chicken-house, and Jane, bless- 
 ings on her, said the one little word to make me 
 a happy man." 
 
 Phil's radiant gaze was bent now upon Kath- 
 leen, who met it and nodded. "Just the 
 thing!" she said, and her mother and brother 
 started in on a Babel of tongues. Mrs. Fabian 
 had forgotten the chicken-house. She had not 
 been in that field for years; but Edgar approved, 
 and altogether they joined in Phil's jubilation, 
 and Mrs. Fabian related how she had prepared 
 Pat to pack for just such an exigency. 
 
 388
 
 The New Studio 
 
 "The little house is awfully dilapidated," 
 said Kathleen. "Its piazza, has fallen off; and 
 I'm sure it leaks. But perhaps you can make it 
 fit to hold your paraphernalia." 
 
 "Aunt Isabel, I want you and Kathleen to 
 keep away until I'm in order," said Phil im- 
 pressively. "You'd try to discourage me and 
 that would waste your time. Eliza is almost in 
 tears, but I know what I want and what I can 
 do." 
 
 "A chicken-house!" exclaimed Mrs. Fa- 
 bian, with second thoughts of disgust. 
 
 "Yes, nobody can come near but Edgar; and 
 if he does, he'll have to scrub." 
 
 "Thank you very much," and the young 
 man raised his eyebrows : " I have my own work 
 to do, you may remember." Scrubbing chicken- 
 houses he thought might even eclipse the 
 memory of lighting the oil-stove. 
 
 "Of course," returned Phil, all attention. 
 "I'm extremely interested in this determina- 
 tion of yours. You certainly have the goods." 
 
 "So they tell me," said Edgar, and twisted 
 his mustache. 
 
 "What are you going to do for furniture?" 
 asked Mrs. Fabian. "You must at least have 
 some chairs and a table." 
 389
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "And a lounge!" cried Phfl, "and an oil- 
 stove." He laughed toward Edgar. "I'm going 
 to live there, best of aunts, and maybe take my 
 dinners with Jane, the star of my existence!" 
 
 "Phfl, you're crazy," said Mrs. Fabian, de- 
 spairing. "You will continue to live here and 
 work over there." 
 
 He shook his head gaily. "Don't worry. Just 
 watch; and if you have any attic treasures in the 
 way of furniture, let me store them for you." 
 
 When Mrs. Fabian really understood the en- 
 terprise Phil was embarking upon, she resigned 
 herself, and finding an old suit of Mr. Fabian's 
 which he had used for fishing, she bestowed it 
 upon her guest. 
 
 Then the work commenced. FJira tried with 
 a lofty sense of devotion to lend a hand and 
 even besought the privilege; but she was re- 
 pulsed. Philip induced Captain James to take 
 an interest in his scheme and render him assist- 
 ance at certain epochs in the reconstruction 
 period, but the Captain and Jane Foster were 
 the only persons privileged to come near the 
 scene of operations; and Miss Foster's heart so 
 far went oat to her strong, determined young 
 tenant that she began hunting in her own garret 
 for things to help him along. 
 
 390
 
 TkeNcwStudio 
 
 With shovel and wheelbarrow, scrubbing- 
 brushes, soapsuds, disinfectants, hammer and 
 nails, Phfl went to work 
 
 Eliza stood on her boundary line, her hands 
 on her hips, and watched, her long nose lifted, 
 while loads of refuse and debris were patiently 
 
 wheeled down to the edge of the bank and given 
 over to the cleansing tide. 
 
 Violet generously offered her window which 
 gave upon the scene of operations, and the 
 opera-glass with which she watched birds; but 
 Eliza declined. 
 
 "I won't spy on him," she said, adding vin- 
 dictively, "but 111 look the obstinate boy!" 
 
 The first time Kathleen called, Violet took 
 her up to her room and they sat in the open 
 window. 
 
 "The opera-glass is scarcely any use," she 
 explained, "for he has n't washed the windows 
 yet and you can't see in at alL" 
 
 KatHeen laughed, but shrank back. "I don't 
 want him to think we're watching," she replied. 
 
 "Oh, he knows we all are; but even after he 
 has gone at night, we don't dare to go and look 
 in. We can't pass that rock there not even 
 Eliza." 
 
 A charming tenor voice suddenly sounded on 
 
 391
 
 the air, singing an aria from ^LaBoheme." The 
 girls looked and saw Edgar advancing toward 
 the chicken-house, peering in curiously. 
 
 Suddenly, Phfl, attired in a sweater and Mr. 
 Fabian's trousers winch scarcely reached his 
 ankles, dashed out at the caller and pressed a 
 scrubbing-brush on his 
 
 denly stopped his lay and ran, laughing, toward 
 Mrs. Wright's, where he found the girfc and 
 took them out on the water. 
 
 "I should think you'd want to hdp him," 
 
 "I do," replied Edgar, "but I restrain my- 
 self. Phfl does n't want me, reaDy," he added; 
 and be was certainly right. Phil had no time to 
 stumble over Marceflines. 
 
 A week passed. Jane Foster had been smiling 
 and important lor the last few days, but not 
 for kingdoms would Efiza have questioned her. 
 She had acquired an air of calm indifference, 
 which belied the burning curiosity within. 
 When Phfl stopped in passing to speak with her, 
 she talked of the weather. Mrs, Wright, on the 
 eipieued her eagerness to see what 
 
 was going on so near and yet so far from 
 
 TTI- 
 
 Pluto gets ahead of us," she said, "and
 
 The New Studio 
 
 you've trained him so wefl he never tells any- 
 thing." 
 
 Edgar happened to be present and he 
 shrugged his shoulders. "Better hunyup, PhD," 
 he remarked, "and have your opening before 
 interest wanes. You 11 have an anti-climax the 
 first thing you know." 
 
 Mrs. Wright turned the gentle radiance of 
 her eyes on the speaker. 
 
 "We heard you last night, singing as you 
 went home, Mr. Fabian," she said: "that 
 lovely voice floating across the field win make 
 us famous. People wifl hear it and wonder about 
 the source, and begin to talk of the angel of 
 Brewster's Island." 
 
 "Wonderfully level-headed people, those 
 Wrights," soliloquized Edgar, as he sauntered 
 home. "A distinct acquisition to the island." 
 Some thought occurred to him. "I wish father 
 could have heard that," he mused. 
 
 Phil lingered behind him. He had changed 
 into his own clothes remarkably early this after- 
 noon. There was an hour yet before supper- 
 time. 
 
 "Where are the rest of your family this after- 
 noon?" he asked. 
 
 "Violet went with Kathleen into the woods to 
 
 393
 
 get some specimens she wants for her micro- 
 scope," replied Mrs. Wright. 
 
 "Where's Eliza?" Phil smiled as he asked it, 
 and his companion smiled in answer. 
 
 "In her room, I think." 
 
 Phil raised his eyebrows interrogatively. 
 
 "Yes, I think so, a little," she replied softly, 
 nodding. "You see Jane has been there every 
 day." 
 
 "But that's all the rent I pay," protested 
 Phil, all very quietly, for though they were 
 standing outdoors, the windows were open. 
 
 "Yes, but it's a good deal for flesh and 
 blood to bear," said Mrs. Wright with a twink- 
 ling glance. "The green-eyed monster ramps 
 at the best of us, you know." 
 
 "I wonder if I could see Eliza," said Phil in 
 his natural voice. 
 
 "Yes, I think she's in her room," returned 
 Mrs. Wright. "I'll go and see." 
 
 She disappeared, and Phil's eyes roved to 
 the boulder cottage and fixed there. A smile 
 touched the corners of his lips. He had not 
 meant to carry prohibition too far with Eliza. 
 It was genuine desire to save her trouble as well 
 as the wish to surprise her after her vehement 
 opposition to his scheme, which had made him 
 
 394
 
 The New Studio 
 
 warn her away. Now he was eager to make it 
 right with her. 
 
 "I remember now," said Mrs. Wright, re- 
 turning; "Eliza went down the hill this after- 
 noon, I don't know just when she'll come back; 
 but won't you sit down and wait for her?" 
 
 "Thank you, I don't believe I will 111 come 
 back later. I've been a runaway guest all this 
 week," and with a smile of farewell, an eager 
 look grew in Phil's eyes as he started to run 
 across the field toward home. 
 
 In all his arrangements, each time he had 
 gained an effect he had thought of Kathleen's 
 amusement and appreciation. 
 
 As soon as he found that Eliza was out of the 
 question, his eagerness burst forth to get the 
 girls' point of view. He met Violet Manning 
 returning from the woods escorted by Edgar. 
 
 "I open the studio fcwnonow," he cried 
 gaily. "Will you come to my tea at three- 
 thirty?" 
 
 "Will we!" exclaimed Violet. "We could n't 
 have lasted much longer! I'm glad you let us 
 see it 'before' so we can fully appreciate it 
 'after.'" 
 
 Violet was looking pretty and very happy. 
 Phil considered for one moment whether he 
 395
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 should ask her to pour. Even yet he felt that 
 Kathleen lived in a remote rarefied air of ele- 
 gance. Would one dare ask her to dispense tea 
 in a chicken-house? But he wisely kept silence. 
 Aunt Isabel might yet enter into what she con- 
 tinued to term his foolishness. 
 
 With a wave of his hand, he fled on his way, 
 and found Kathleen, flushed from her walk, 
 carrying mosses to the table in the wind-break. 
 
 "I've finished," he cried, vaulting over the 
 railing and appearing beside her. "Want to see 
 it?" 
 
 She looked up into his expectant eyes. 
 
 "Are we invited?" she returned. 
 
 "To-morrow, everybody is; but I thought 
 I 'd like you to see it right now if you are n't 
 too tired." 
 
 " A'private view ! " she exclaimed. "Who was 
 ever too tired for that? But I'm of the earth 
 so earthy, I shall have to go in and wash my 
 hands." 
 
 "No, no, don't," replied Phil softly. "You'd 
 meet Aunt Isabel, and this is to be clandes- 
 tine. Wipe your hands on this," he pulled 
 his handkerchief out of his pocket, "and 
 
 come." 
 
 Kathleen laughed and brushing her fingers 
 396
 
 The New Studio 
 
 free of traces of the treasured moss, she wiped 
 them and they started across the field. 
 
 "Here's hoping Violet and Edgar don't see 
 us," said Phil, and took the path he had trod- 
 den so often straight to the hen-house, and 
 which did not pass very near the Wrights. 
 
 As they approached, Kathleen looked curi- 
 ously at the little cottage with its sloping red 
 roof, nestling close to the ground on the breast 
 of the hill and sheltered by the tall Balm-of- 
 Gilead trees. Their rustling leaves held always 
 a murmur as of rain and to-day fleecy white 
 clouds piled against the blue sky behind the 
 cottage. 
 
 As they drew near, Kathleen stopped and 
 clasped her hands, and laughter bubbled from 
 her lips. 
 
 "That's clever!" she exclaimed heartily, and 
 Phil's eyes danced as she met them. 
 
 A swinging sign had been hung above the low 
 door. Upon it strutted a splendid cock and 
 above his proudly lifted comb appeared the 
 legend: 
 
 VILLA CHANTECLER. 
 
 Phil threw open the low door with a sweeping 
 bow; and Kathleen paused on the threshold 
 397
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 with a low cry of surprise; then stepped into the 
 cool, dusky interior. 
 
 She found herself in a low-ceiled room with 
 small-paned windows set high. A golden radi- 
 ance streamed through, falling on the soft tone 
 of floor and walls. 
 
 On a table draped with dull green a tall 
 candlestick and ivory-tinted plate reflected 
 gleams of light. 
 
 Kathleen sank on the cushions of a long, low 
 divan. 
 
 "You can paint Rembrandt portraits in 
 here!" she said. "Don't explain how you've 
 done it. I don't want to know. It is the most 
 restful, delightful studio I Ve ever seen and 
 smelling of ambergris?" 
 
 "No, only of bay leaves." 
 
 Phil waited and let her look at the hangings, 
 the cushioned chairs, and spindle legs of the 
 quaint table. 
 
 "You like it," he said after a pause of deep 
 satisfaction. 
 
 She looked up at him. " I am making genu- 
 flexions to you in my mind." 
 
 He laughed. "But the best is yet to come. Sit 
 where you are." 
 
 He moved to the back of the room and opened 
 398
 
 The New Studio 
 
 a door toward the ocean. It was as if a brilliant 
 panel had suddenly been set in the dark wall. 
 
 Kathleen sprang to her feet. 
 
 "Like enamel!" she said softly, and ap- 
 proached the opening. 
 
 It led upon a terrace with a white railing. 
 Tall white pillars at either end were crowned 
 with dark-green bay. 
 
 "Is it a stage-setting," she said, "or is it 
 practicable?" 
 
 "Come out and see." 
 
 Together they moved outside and the wind 
 came up out of the sea across the sleeping field 
 and swept their faces and set the young leaves 
 of the orchard to whispering with sweet fresh 
 lips to their gnarled stems. 
 
 Kathleen looked up at her companion, smiled 
 and shook her head. 
 
 "You have added poetry to our island," she 
 said. "I did n't think any one could do that." 
 
 Phil met her gaze. 
 
 "And you," he said, "have put the finishing 
 touch to my satisfaction."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 PHILIP'S LETTER 
 
 DEAREST MOTHER: You remember I told 
 you I had found a pig's ear and was going to 
 make a silk purse out of it despite the scepti- 
 cism of the neighborhood. Behold the purse! I 
 call it the Villa Chantecler. It has taken me 
 the whole week, but the result well, Kath- 
 leen says I have added poetry to the island, and 
 I suspect she is authority on poetry, although 
 that too is hidden in one of the locked rooms 
 I've told you about. She gives just enough of 
 herself to each person to fit every occasion; but 
 the way she took the first view of the Villa yes- 
 terday was like everything else she does ; perfec- 
 tion. I did n't know I was going to write that. 
 I did n't know I thought it. That's the beauty 
 of having some one to whom you can think 
 aloud. You find out what you do think; but she 
 and I touch only on the high places and when 
 we leave the island we shall fly apart for the 
 whole winter again; with pleasant memories, 
 however. She has a positive talent for letting 
 people alone. I love such people ! 
 400
 
 Philip's Letter 
 
 Now, to tell you how I did my little trick. 
 I could never have done it but for New Eng- 
 land tenacity and thrift. They never" throw 
 anything away in this part of the world; and 
 even importations like Aunt Isabel collect 
 some lumber-room outcasts rather than in- 
 jure the scenery by throwing them over the 
 bank. 
 
 Jane Foster, adorable landlady and Lady 
 Bountiful that she is, turned me loose in her 
 attic, and told me to help myself. So, first of all, 
 I made the hen-house shine with cleanliness. 
 Then Cap'n James helped me drag up its de- 
 jected piazza which had capsized in the neigh- 
 boring field. We nailed it to the house and 
 painted it white. 
 
 Aunt Isabel had discarded a Crex rug, which 
 I took for my studio, also a three-legged divan 
 and chairs whose cane seats had surrendered. 
 These I mended and cushioned. In Miss Fos- 
 ter's attic, I found what I should think were all 
 the potato sacks that had ever been used in the 
 Foster family. These made my hangings and 
 cushions, although the poverty they implied 
 nearly reduced Jane to tears. She implored me 
 to use turkey red and found enough in the attic 
 to begin on. The stuff smelled so new, I'm 
 401
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 nearly certain the dear woman bought it and 
 placed it there. 
 
 I found an old spinet under the eaves. Its 
 voice had long departed; but its charming legs 
 and framework were intact. I placed some 
 boards across that and used my green bathrobe 
 for a cover. I took a straight length of pipe, 
 fixed it into a wooden stand, topped it with a 
 spool, bronzed the whole thing, and behold, a 
 stunning candlestick in which stands a tall wax 
 candle. 
 
 Among the refuse I had carried out of the 
 place, I had found charming old plates, heavy as 
 lead, crackled with age, and cream and gray in 
 color. These I disposed variously, and I am per- 
 fectly sure Cap'n James and Jane Foster have 
 laid their heads together in order to condole 
 over the fact that so pleasant a young man 
 should have so gloomy and unpicturesque a 
 taste when he expects to get his living by that 
 same lame faculty. In fact, Cap'n James un- 
 burdened his mind one day. He said : 
 
 "Ain't you goin' to have anything cheerful 
 'round here? It looks to me more fit for hens 
 than it does for folks right now." 
 
 Under the house I found lengths of drain- 
 pipe. These I used on my terrace at the back 
 402
 
 Philip's Letter 
 
 of the Villa, overlooking the sea. When I had 
 placed these pillars at each end of the railing 
 and crowned them with the polished bay that 
 grows luxuriantly here, I had a quite Italian 
 effect, I assure you. 
 
 Jane looks at me with pitiful eyes, and yes- 
 terday came down to the Villa with a framed 
 chromo from her parlor wall. 
 
 "I just as lieves you'd use it as not," she 
 said, "and anyway you might put it up till the 
 folks have seen the place. Your own paintin's 
 can go up later." I almost kissed her, she pitied 
 me so, and I could see that she agreed with 
 Cap'n James, who said the place gave him the 
 "Injun blues." 
 
 There is a rough stairway that leads to the 
 half-floored room above. I took a drain-pipe to 
 make a newel post for that. It is surmounted 
 with a bronze Mercury on a pedestal. The 
 pedestal is a small, rusty tin wash-basin that I 
 found under the house. I covered it with var- 
 nish and rolled it in sand, inverted it, and be 
 hold! I also gave an appearance of advanced 
 age to the Mercury; so the general appearance 
 is as of a treasure from Pompeii. 
 
 If only you and father could see and feel the 
 beauty and the heavenly quiet of the place. I 
 403
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 have a kitchen, too. The door was a wreck, and 
 I tacked upon it a dark ornate window shade 
 which tones in with all the rest. 
 
 Sometimes I feel as if I were only living to see 
 you again. I know it 's what I 'm working for 
 anyway; and I well know that you are work- 
 ing for me every day of your dear life. 
 
 I love you. 
 
 PHIL.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 PHILIP ENTERTAINS 
 
 PHILIP still had Eliza on his mind, so when 
 Kathleen had left him, he went back to the 
 farmhouse and had the good fortune to meet 
 Eliza returning home. 
 
 "Pm looking for you!" he called cheerfully. 
 
 She regarded him unsmiling. "Well," she re- 
 marked carelessly, "you look like a gentleman 
 of leisure." 
 
 "Just what I am. You guessed right. My 
 Villa is finished and I 've been waiting for you 
 because I 'm going to let everybody in to-mor- 
 row and I wanted you to see it with me alone." 
 
 "My opinion ain't worth anything," said 
 Eliza; "besides, it's pretty near time to get 
 supper. Miss Foster went up to Portland to- 
 day." 
 
 " I know she did. That's why I'm in a hurry 
 to take you into the studio before the boat ar- 
 rives. You know how discouraging you were, 
 Eliza, and I wanted to surprise you. I'd have 
 liked to surprise everybody, but, of course, I 
 405
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 had n't the nerve to keep Miss Foster out. The 
 rent I pay did n't warrant it." The speaker 
 twinkled down into Eliza's unresponsive eyes. 
 "I'm going to give a tea to-morrow and I want 
 to talk it over with you." 
 
 They had strolled near to the rustic bench 
 where Mrs. Wright was still sitting with her 
 work. 
 
 "Eliza is going with me to have a private 
 view of the Villa," said Phil. "Your turn to- 
 morrow. I'm going to give a tea. Will you 
 come?' 
 
 "Most assuredly," answered Mrs. Wright. 
 "As soon as you cleaned those windows, my 
 curiosity began to effervesce." 
 
 "I can't go now," said Eliza. "I've waited 
 this long, I guess I can wait till to-morrow. I Ve 
 got to get supper." 
 
 Philip threw an arm around her and drew her 
 forward. 
 
 "Boarders have come, Mr. Philip," she ex- 
 claimed. "They'll see you." 
 
 "I hope they will," he responded firmly. "If 
 .they don't know I love you, it's the best way to 
 tell them." 
 
 Eliza walked along stiffly, perforce, toward 
 the forbidden ground. 
 
 406
 
 Philip Entertains 
 
 :< Yes, I thought I 'd make a grand splurge to- 
 morrow, and give a tea," he continued. "I 
 want you to preside." 
 
 "Do what?" 
 
 "Pour. I want you to pour for me." 
 
 "H'm. Ridiculous! Let one of the girls do it." 
 
 "Well, just as you say. Now, then," they 
 were drawing near the little house, "prepare! 
 Be a good sport now, and own yourself wrong if 
 you think you are. See my shingle?" 
 
 Eliza's eyes followed his gesture and caught 
 sight of the crowing cock. 
 
 "H'm," she said; then they went inside. 
 
 Eliza looked about in silence for a minute. 
 
 "It's clean," she said at last; and Phil knew 
 she was moved to catch at a word of praise as 
 one says of a neighbor's plain and uninteresting 
 baby, "How healthy he looks!" 
 
 He began explaining his devices to Eliza and 
 her heart was touched by his joy in all this 
 cheap gloom. 
 
 By the time he opened the back door, she was 
 ready to weep over him; and she said: 
 
 "That's a real sightly piazza." 
 
 Then they moved into the little kitchen. 
 
 " I've been waiting for you to tell me what to 
 do here," said the artist, and Eliza rose to the 
 407
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 bait and began pulling things about and show- 
 ing him where shelves must be placed. 
 
 "How are you goin' to give a tea," she asked, 
 "with one broken mug?" 
 
 "Borrow cups and saucers from Aunt Isabel. 
 That's easy; but," he looked down at Eliza, 
 whose face had regained its usual alertness, "it 
 occurred to me that perhaps I have some of my 
 own those that you packed for me and that 
 ran away to the island." 
 
 "Mr. Philip, I'm a fool to forget those!" re- 
 sponded the other, after gazing at him in silence. 
 "You shall have every one of 'em. They're all 
 mixed in with the Foster things. I '11 pick 'em 
 out; and we'll lend you all you need beside." 
 
 "Would it interfere with supper proceedings 
 if we were to do it right now?" 
 
 "Law! it ain't time to get supper yet," re- 
 sponded Eliza, so promptly that, as they hurried 
 out of the door, Phil stooped to break a long 
 blade of grass to bite. 
 
 A vigorous search was at once instituted for 
 the china, and Phil and Eliza carried it down to 
 the studio; and as they went, Mr. Wright came 
 up from the water and joined his wife. 
 
 "We're to be let in to-morrow," she said. 
 "He has finished." 
 
 408
 
 Philip Entertains 
 
 "Well, it's been a job," remarked Mr. 
 Wright, who had occasionally sat on a log and 
 watched Phil at his roof-mending or some other 
 strenuous part of the work. 
 
 "Yes, he ought to succeed," said Mrs. 
 Wright. "He has n't a lazy bone in his body." 
 
 "There are n't many of us that have at his 
 age," remarked Mr. Wright. "Are there, 
 Pluto?" 
 
 The cat had run to meet him like a dog. 
 For him the scent of Mr. Wright's fishing trou- 
 sers was as the perfume of Araby; and he fol- 
 lowed him to the room in the shed where his 
 friend changed them for habiliments more gen- 
 erally agreeable. 
 
 At last Phil returned to the boulder cottage 
 where he found Mrs. Fabian and Kathleen in 
 the wind-break. The latter was working at the 
 table, sorting the moss specimens for her slides. 
 
 She looked up at him now with a new realiza- 
 tion of his powers. 
 
 "Well, you said this morning to-day would 
 finish the work," said Mrs. Fabian, closing her 
 novel on her finger for a mark. "Are you 
 through?" 
 
 "As nearly as I ever shall be," he replied, 
 throwing himself into a chair near Kathleen's 
 409
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 table and regarding her deft fingers at their 
 work. 
 
 "Well, I'm glad," said Mrs. Fabian, "for 
 we've seen nothing of you. I like the way you 
 visit us." 
 
 He looked at her quickly to see if there were 
 feeling behind the accusation. 
 
 "Now, you'll have to stay on a week when 
 you are not so preoccupied." 
 
 "Not if he does n't wish to, mother," said 
 Kathleen, going on with her work. Her cheeks 
 were still flushed from the warm tramp to the 
 woods; the red glints in her hair shone lustrous. 
 
 "It does look like making use of you, does n't 
 it?" he said impetuously. "But you're so good 
 to me, both of you. To-morrow you'll forgive 
 me, Aunt Isabel, when you see I have a place to 
 work and trouble no one. I do hope it won't 
 
 rain." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Kathleen, handling a tiny bit 
 of moss. "The moon holds the weather." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian laughed. "Kathleen, the as- 
 tronomer," she said. 
 
 The girl nodded. "It may not be a scientific 
 way to put it, but I 've always noticed it here. 
 It will be full to-morrow night. The weather 
 won't change till the moon does." 
 410
 
 Philip Entertains 
 
 "Delightfully consoling," said Phil, continu- 
 ing to watch her averted face. It seemed to him 
 this was the first time since Christmas night 
 that his mind had been sufficiently at leisure 
 from itself to concentrate upon her. He sud- 
 denly remembered that she used to like cigar- 
 ettes. He had not yet seen her use one. Perhaps 
 she was aiding Edgar in the stern limit which he 
 was imposing upon himself. 
 
 "I wonder," he said, "if either of you would 
 pour for me at my grand tea to-morrow." 
 
 Kathleen did not look up, but her cheeks 
 grew warmer while she manipulated the moss. 
 
 "Oh, a tea in the chicken-house," laughed 
 Mrs. Fabian. 
 
 The light jeering tone struck Kathleen as 
 coming at a particularly unfortunate moment. 
 
 "I will. Be glad to," she said heartily. 
 
 "Whom are you going to invite? The fish?" 
 laughed Mrs. Fabian. 
 
 Phil's naivete was dashed by her tone. Kath- 
 leen felt it. 
 
 "Mother's jealous, Phil," she said, "because 
 she has seen so little of you all the week. She is at 
 fever heat of curiosity as to what you have been 
 doing; and as for tea! Mother's an inebriate. 
 She won't leave any for the fish. You'll see." 
 411
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Phil looked at the speaker gratefully, and 
 leaned toward her a little. "I have the right 
 barrel at last," he said. "The one that ran 
 away to the island. Do you remember?" 
 
 His eyes were so very speaking that Kathleen 
 dropped hers to the moss. She nodded and 
 smiled. 
 
 "It knew where it ought to go, did n't it?" 
 she returned. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian's countenance had sobered. She 
 knew the descendant of the Van Ruyslers so 
 well that she understood that she had offended. 
 
 "Can't one make a bit of fun once in a 
 while?" she asked in injured tones of Kathleen 
 when next they were alone. 
 
 "Yes, once in a while," answered the girl, 
 and kissed her. 
 
 "It'll be something funny for you to look 
 back upon when you come out, Kathleen, that 
 your first function after graduating took place 
 in a chicken-house." 
 
 "I hope I shall not be homesick for it," 
 thought the girl; but she only smiled. 
 
 "Kathleen is certainly touchy about Phil," 
 
 mused Mrs. Fabian. " She glared up at me just 
 
 the way she did last fall when I wanted to get 
 
 Aunt Mary's silver. She is the queerest girl!" 
 
 412
 
 Philip Entertains 
 
 The moon or something else did hold the 
 weather and the artist could have had no better 
 day on which to give his proof that where 
 there's a will there's a way. 
 
 The company swarmed through the little 
 house, laughing, admiring, questioning. At last 
 they stood on the terrace. 
 
 "My dear boy!" exclaimed Mrs. Wright. 
 "You could have no better view if you were a 
 millionaire!" 
 
 "The only thing lacking," cried Violet, "is a 
 white peacock. Where is the white peacock?" 
 
 "How about it, Edgar?" asked Phil. 
 "Could n't you stand out there for the lady?" 
 
 "The nightingale could never deceive us," 
 said Mrs. Wright, bending her universally lov- 
 ing gaze on Edgar, whose chin was held rather 
 higher than usual. 
 
 "That's so," cried Phil. "Sing us something, 
 Edgar, right here and now." 
 
 " Certainly," responded the gifted one, regard- 
 ing his host as he launched easily into song: - 
 
 " ' I'm looking for a lobster and I think you '11 do.' " 
 
 Mrs. Fabian did not join in the laugh. She 
 had moved inside, and her lorgnette was fixed 
 on a closed door. 
 
 413
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "I must see in there, Phil," she said. 
 
 "Of course, you must, Mrs. Bluebeard," he 
 replied. "You may all go in this once, but it's 
 the last time ever, I warn you, for that is my 
 kitchen." 
 
 They swarmed through to the little room, 
 where Edgar perceived with a groan an oil-stove 
 burning cosily in the midst of canvas, paints, 
 easel, et cetera. 
 
 "/'// never go in again, I promise you," he 
 declared. 
 
 At the host's invitation, the company ar- 
 ranged themselves on the rejuvenated chairs 
 and couch, and Kathleen made tea at the 
 spindle-legged table. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian's lorgnette was bent upon the 
 newel post. 
 
 "However did you make him stand up, 
 dear?" she asked, regarding the Mercury which 
 had winged his way from her garret. "We 
 have n't been upstairs yet, remember." 
 
 "And you won't go till you're tired of life," 
 returned the host. "It abounds in trapdoors 
 and, aside from my affection for you, the furni- 
 ture down here could n't stand being fallen on." 
 
 Being turned ceilingward, Mrs. Fabian's 
 lorgnette discovered that branches of bay had 
 414
 
 Philip Entertains 
 
 been woven through the rafters in some places. 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "You'll get rained on in this dilapidated old 
 place," she said. "A few bay leaves can't 
 deceive me." 
 
 "Madam! Are you aware that you are talk- 
 ing about the Villa Chantecler? That roof is as 
 tight as a drum." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian stirred the lemon in her sub- 
 stantially thick cup; and looked admiringly at 
 the energetic host. 
 
 "I only hope, Phil," she sighed, "that you 
 are n't too practical to succeed in your profes- 
 sion. So few artists would know how to mend a 
 roof or even remember the necessity for it. I 
 hope it is n't a bad sign." 
 
 Edgar, sitting with Violet on the railing, 
 drinking tea, heard his mother's comment. 
 
 "A good deal in that, I think," he remarked 
 softly. "I've never seen any of Phil's things 
 except that rough black-and-white stuff he has 
 in there. He never seemed to me to have a par- 
 ticle of temperament." 
 
 Violet was inclined to agree. She had seen 
 nothing amusing in Philip's chaff about the 
 peacock. She thought it quite as silly as were 
 the other comments on the robin. 
 415
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "I wish you would sing something," she said. 
 "Do, and surprise them." 
 
 "I can't. I have n't even a banjo." 
 
 "I've noticed you have everything over at 
 the house: banjo, guitar, mandolin, everything. 
 You must leave one of them over here. Music 
 would sound perfectly charming in this place." 
 
 "Any music?" asked Edgar, smiling. 
 
 She returned his look from the tops of her 
 eyes. "Bold fisherman," she replied. 
 
 Her companion scanned the horizon: "The 
 moon is going to be great to-night. It looks as 
 if it would rise clear out of the water. Want to 
 go for a sail?" 
 
 "I don't believe I can," replied Violet. "I 
 have an engagement." 
 
 "An engagement!" returned Edgar, sceptic- 
 ally. "Are you going to read aloud to your 
 aunt?" 
 
 Violet smiled at him provokingly. "You're 
 not the only man on this island," she remarked. 
 
 A quick flush mounted to Edgar's forehead. 
 
 "Phil?" he asked quickly. 
 
 She nodded, mutely, and took the last swal- 
 low of her tea. 
 
 Her companion looked as if he might be in the 
 throes of the red mood.
 
 Philip Entertains 
 
 "That's beastly," he said, dismayed to think 
 that in all Phil's preoccupation he had had suf- 
 ficient forethought to secure Violet for this 
 perfect evening. "Since when?" he demanded 
 fiercely. 
 
 "Since yesterday," she returned demurely, 
 apparently unconscious that the arrangement 
 caused annoyance. 
 
 "Very well, then, we'll take the yacht," he 
 said, "and let the crowd go. Phil can help me 
 sail her. I was intending to take the motor-boat 
 and you alone." 
 
 "I don't know whether Mr. Sidney would 
 care to," she returned coolly, "but it's very 
 kind of you." 
 
 Edgar regarded her, baffled. "What what 
 had you planned to do?" he asked. He knew 
 the question was inexcusable and braced him- 
 self for a snub; but the sweet Violet, exultant at 
 his open disturbance, administered none. 
 
 "Nothing special," she replied. "Mr. Sidney 
 is invited to dine with us, in celebration of the 
 completion of the improvements he has been 
 making on the estate. That's all." 
 
 "Oh, absurd!" declared Edgar. "As if you 
 could n't dine any foggy night. Well, you don't 
 need to stay after dinner. He is n't your guest." 
 417
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Violet regarded him with an ironical smile. 
 
 "I've been taught manners," she said. "Be- 
 side, perhaps I want to stay. Did n't that 
 occur to you?" 
 
 Edgar scowled and looked off on the ocean 
 and back again. "I don't want to take the 
 whole family out in order to get you," he said, 
 fuming. 
 
 "I wouldn't," she answered, laughing. "It 
 is n't worth the trouble." 
 
 Her companion clenched his even teeth. He 
 did n't want to risk Philip's meandering about 
 the island alone with Violet on such an evening 
 as this was going to be. He would be sure to talk 
 of his work and his hopes, and her confoundedly 
 soulful eyes would look back at him compre- 
 hendingly, and a precedent would be estab- 
 lished and 
 
 "You see, Mr. Sidney expects to take all his 
 dinners with us after he begins working here," 
 went on Violet sweetly. "It will be so conven- 
 ient just to run across." 
 
 Edgar gave her a furious glance, but the sim- 
 plicity of her regard was complete. 
 
 Mrs. Wright came to the open door. "We're 
 going now, Violet," she said. "Will you come? 
 Our host positively refuses to allow us to help 
 418
 
 Philip Entertains 
 
 him put things away, and he will follow a little 
 later. I've been hoping," turning to Edgar, 
 " that you might be moved to sing as you sat out 
 here." 
 
 The young man had sprung to his feet and 
 was trying to banish evidences of the red mood 
 from his brow. 
 
 " I wanted to take Violet out on the water to- 
 night," he said. " It seems there 's an obstacle." 
 
 "Yes, a large one," returned Mrs. Wright 
 pleasantly. "Lots of evenings coming, but I 
 don't know about letting my little girl go on the 
 water at night." 
 
 " I guarantee her safety. I Ve come here ever 
 since I was a baby, Mrs. Wright, and I'm an 
 amphibious animal; but if Sidney should ever 
 suggest it, remember he's a landlubber. Half 
 the time they don't know enough to be afraid." 
 
 "Very true," returned Mrs. Wright, with her 
 natural graceful sweetness of manner, which 
 at least succeeded in making Edgar feel rude. 
 "Come, dear," turning to Violet, "I'd like to 
 have you come with me." 
 
 So the girl rose and yielded her cup to Edgar, 
 who took it with dignity. He, the ex-cavalier of 
 Mrs. Larrabee, not to be able to mould circum- 
 stances among these poor and provincial people! 
 419
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 He took leave of Philip, and tendered his 
 congratulations with an air fitted to grace mar- 
 ble halls. "I believe," he added, "you don't 
 dine at home to-night." 
 
 "No," replied Phil, "Miss Foster is very 
 kindly entertaining her tenant." 
 
 Edgar pricked up his ears; and instantly ran 
 after Violet. "Phil says Jane Fosterinvited him," 
 he said vehemently. " I shall call for you by eight 
 o'clock. I'll take the best care of her, Mrs. 
 Wright. I assure you I will, and bring her in 
 early." 
 
 He was off before he could be gainsaid, and 
 Mrs. Wright noticed that Violet's expression 
 was such as might be worn by a well-grown kit- 
 ten who had been hilariously entertained in a 
 game with a mouse which was as yet unfinished 
 and highly promising. 
 
 The events of the week had thrown light on 
 the happiness Violet evinced the day of her 
 arrival under Edgar Fabian's escort. Mrs. 
 Wright's tenderness for her orphan niece was 
 alertly watchful. She put an arm around her 
 now and drew her away from the house, and 
 they walked slowly across the grass. 
 
 " It really is perfectly safe to go on the water 
 with Edgar," said the girl, half laughing. 
 
 420
 
 Philip Entertains 
 
 "For me, it might be," returned Mrs. Wright 
 quietly. 
 
 Violet blushed deeply, and dreaded what 
 might be coming. 
 
 "The Fabians are nice people," went on her 
 aunt, "very rich people and able to give you 
 pleasures, and I like you to be friendly with 
 them; but I'm a little afraid of this situation." 
 
 "You need n't be," burst forth the girl im- 
 pulsively. "Edgar doesn't really care much 
 about me." 
 
 "That's the trouble," said Mrs. Wright 
 quietly. 
 
 The reply was so unexpected that Violet felt 
 a sharp twinge of mortification and a sponta- 
 neous desire to show her aunt that she was 
 wrong. There were lots of small proofs that she 
 might give her 
 
 "No," she returned, suddenly serious. "He 
 cares very much for me in a certain way: my 
 understanding of his gift and his hopes - 
 and his career. His family mean to be kind, but 
 they're so unsympathetic. They're not tem- 
 peramental like him and - 
 
 Violet paused because Aunt Amy was smil- 
 ing. It was unkind to smile at such a time. Very 
 well ! Her lips should be sealed from this time 
 421
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 on. She would never again speak to her about 
 Edgar! 
 
 "He is very attractive even with all his con- 
 ceit," said Mrs. Wright, who was quite con- 
 scious that the girl's slender body had suddenly 
 a resentful rigidity. "A beautiful tenor voice 
 and conceit seem to be inseparable in this mun- 
 dane sphere; and if my little girl has understood 
 and responded to his outpourings about himself 
 she is charming to him." Mrs. Wright paused 
 and then went on: "Look around, Violet, and 
 realize that you are the only girl here to whom 
 he can show attention. Did he show you any in 
 New York ? Did he go out of his way for you ? 
 You fell right into his reach on the train and he 
 took the gifts the gods provided; and they were 
 very sweet gifts." 
 
 The speaker squeezed her unresponsive lis- 
 tener, whose heart was beating hotly. "As a 
 rule men are marauders," she went on. "As a 
 rule, women are single-hearted, faithful. There 
 are exceptions. I want to give you one piece of 
 advice and I can't put it too strongly. Take it 
 in and act upon it, and it may save you a world 
 of hurt vanity, and possibly a broken heart. No 
 matter how a man behaves toward you, no 
 matter how he looks, or what he does, or 
 422
 
 Philip Entertains 
 
 what he says, don't believe or even imagine 
 that he loves you until he tells you he does, in 
 so many words." 
 
 There were tears in the baby-bachelor's blue 
 eyes. Among the stormy emotions that filled 
 her was the horrible suspicion that, instead of 
 being a foreordained victor, the kitten might 
 possibly in the end be the mouse's victim. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Sidney," went on Mrs. Wright's 
 calm voice, "is a man who I believe has hold of 
 life by the right end." 
 
 "He is always making fun of Edgar," burst 
 forth Violet, her breath coming fast. "You 
 heard what he said about the peacock." 
 
 At this, Mrs. Wright fell a peg lower in her 
 niece's estimation, for she laughed. 
 
 " I knew what he meant," she answered, " but 
 I couldn't let the lovely singer's feelings be 
 hurt." 
 
 "Knew what he meant!" exclaimed Violet, 
 indignantly, and suddenly breaking away from 
 her aunt's embrace, she ran toward the house 
 and disappeared. 
 
 Mrs. Wright followed the fleeing form with 
 her eyes, and nodded gently. 
 
 " I thought so. Only just in time," she said to 
 herself. The seed was dropped, and even though 
 423
 
 the ground did have to be harrowed to get the 
 necessary depth, it was better so. 
 
 The evening was as beautiful as Edgar 
 Fabian had foreseen. One of the many charms 
 of Brewster's Island was the habit the wind 
 had of lulling at sunset, often making the 
 evening air milder than that of day. 
 
 To-night the sun had sunk in a clear sky be- 
 hind the White Mountains. All the family at 
 the Wright cottage had come out after supper 
 to see the Presidential Range, ninety miles 
 away, silhouetted black against the golden 
 glory. 
 
 "One can breathe here," thought Philip. 
 "One can breathe here." He wondered if 
 Kathleen were watching the sunset. 
 
 "Oh, but turn around," cried Violet sud- 
 denly. "This is a three-ringed circus. One 
 should live on a pivot here on a clear night." 
 
 Phil turned obediently, and saw the waters 
 dashing against a huge disk of pale gold. 
 
 Kathleen, lying in her hammock, arm folded 
 beneath her head, was also watching the moon. 
 
 Edgar sat near her on the steps, smoking his 
 third cigarette that day. It was his rigid allow- 
 ance. He saw dimly the figures come out from 
 the Wright cottage and his first impulse was to 
 424
 
 Philip Entertains 
 
 stroll across and join them; but pride forbade. 
 Supposing he were to get there just in time to see 
 Violet walk off with Philip. 
 
 "What a perfect evening!" said Kathleen 
 lazily. "Go in and get the guitar, Edgar, and 
 sing me something." 
 
 Sing something! Edgar's teeth clenched at 
 the thought. 
 
 "I've practised such a lot to-day, Pm no 
 good," he replied. 
 
 "Why, I did n't hear you," she said. 
 
 "No. I took my trusty pitch-pipe down in 
 the woods and scared the birds. I have some 
 mercy on you and mother." 
 
 "What is your aim?" asked his sister. "What 
 do you want to do? Concert work?" 
 
 "Yes, perhaps. Mazzini says I could teach 
 right now if I wanted to." 
 
 "Teach ? " repeated Kathleen, trying to speak 
 respectfully, but smiling at the man in the 
 moon, who grinned back as if he understood. 
 
 "Of course, there's no necessity for that, so I 
 shall simply prepare myself for public work; 
 recitals; possibly go abroad for the prestige of 
 study over there. Not that I need i^ but the 
 name goes a long way, and if I should go into 
 opera it is best to begin there." 
 425
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 i 
 
 The man in the moon grew redder in the face. 
 So did Kathleen; but she knew that sublime 
 self-assurance is an asset not to be despised. 
 She looked at her brother's trim shapely head, 
 rising from the white silk collar of his negligee 
 shirt. 
 
 "Does Mazzini really think you are already 
 prepared to teach?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes. I had very few errors in method to 
 unlearn, and he says, given a good voice, a good 
 presence, and good looks, tact, and an attract- 
 ive studio, pupils will come fast enough," re- 
 plied Edgar carelessly. "He said he'd send me 
 his overflow; but of course all that was in joke. 
 He knows that it is no question of money with 
 
 me." 
 
 Kathleen ceased to smile at the moon, for her 
 thoughts recurred to their father, meeting his 
 problems in the heat of the great city. So far 
 his letters had breathed no hint of trouble. 
 
 "That's a glorious feeling, Edgar," she said 
 soberly, "to feel certain that you can be inde- 
 pendent." 
 
 "Yes," he returned, speaking low, and hold- 
 ing the cigarette between his fingers. " I said I 'd 
 show father, and I will." 
 
 The remainder of his thoughts he did not 
 426
 
 Philip Entertains 
 
 voice; but there was some one else he meant to 
 show. The vivacious Mrs. Larrabee who had 
 dared to use him when it suited her and then 
 discard him with raised eyebrows and a scorn- 
 ful word. She should see him win the plaudits 
 of the multitude; then, when she endeavored to 
 add her incense and claim to have been his in- 
 spiration, it should be his turn to show cold 
 disdain. He ground the even teeth at some 
 memory. 
 
 " I want to tell you, Edgar," went on Kath- 
 leen in the same serious tone, "that I am proud 
 of your determination; proud of your regular 
 work; proud of your cutting down on smoking; 
 and it will overwhelm me with joy to see you 
 succeed." 
 
 "Thanks, Kath," he returned. "I appreciate 
 that." 
 
 "And I also want to ask you not to make 
 love to Violet Manning," went on the low, seri- 
 ous voice. 
 
 Edgar was dumb, and now the man in the 
 moon met him with a grin. 
 
 "You know it will be only an idle pastime 
 with you, and because she is the only girl here. 
 It might mean a lot to her, and it's a hard 
 world for girls." 
 
 427
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Kathleen had not intended to end her appeal 
 in that way, but the declaration broke from her. 
 
 " She does n't care a picayune for me," re- 
 turned Edgar. " Don't you worry." He hoped 
 his sister would contradict him; but she did not. 
 
 "You might be able to make her," she said. 
 "Be too manly to try, Edgar. Do, do be un- 
 selfish and honest." 
 
 The earnest deliberation of her tone caused 
 her listener to reflect for a moment; and the 
 man in the moon, by this time crimson in the 
 face, met his frowning regard mirthfully.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 BY MOONLIGHT 
 
 WHILE Edgar was still frowning, and divided 
 between consoled pride and a consciousness of 
 guilt, a tall dark form came into sight in the 
 moonlit landscape. It broke into a run as it 
 neared the cottage, and with a sense of relief 
 Edgar recognized Philip Sidney, who bounded 
 over the piazza railing. 
 
 Catching sight of Edgar sitting alone, he 
 spoke eagerly: 
 
 "Has Kathleen gone anywhere?" 
 
 "No, she's there in the hammock. How did 
 you break away so early?" 
 
 "I did n't think it was going to be easy," re- 
 plied Phil half laughing, and looking toward the 
 shadowy hammock where Kathleen in her white 
 gown was watching him; "but we finished sup- 
 per a long time ago, and and have been talk- 
 ing ever since. We had told each other about 
 everything we knew, and so I thought" his 
 voice trailed away "well, I think I was 
 homesick." 
 
 429
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Why did n't you bring Violet with you?" 
 asked Edgar. 
 
 "I tried to; that is, I suggested that it was 
 too heavenly a night to keep still, and asked her 
 if she would like to go to walk " As he talked, 
 Phil kept his eyes on the white figure in the ham- 
 mock and he spoke eagerly as if he were justify- 
 ing himself. "But," he went on, "she said she 
 had a headache and felt that she must excuse 
 herself." 
 
 Edgar looked up triumphantly at the man in 
 the moon, but he refused to see the joke. His 
 hilarious mood had changed. He beamed down 
 now in pensive golden serenity with the usual 
 remote benevolence for all lovers which has won 
 his reputation. 
 
 "What was there in that tea I made?" in- 
 quired Kathleen lazily. "Mother has the head- 
 ache, too. Is n't it a shame on such an even- 
 ing." 
 
 "Too bad," said Phil perfunctorily. He ap- 
 proached the hammock and neither he nor 
 Kathleen noted that Edgar made an unostenta- 
 tious departure such as the comic papers de- 
 scribe as a cat-like sneak. Certainly Pluto 
 could not have moved any more quietly, and his 
 heart was gay. 
 
 430
 
 By Moonlight 
 
 "Headache!" he thought, the even teeth 
 broadly exhibited. "What that headache needs 
 is the water-cure"; and the boarders sitting out 
 in front of the Wright cottage heard the 
 "Toreador Song" blithely whistled by some 
 one coming across the field. 
 
 When Edgar arrived at the farmhouse he 
 looked about for a familiar figure. Among the 
 little group, Eliza Brewster was the only one he 
 knew. He approached her with his most 
 debonair manner. 
 
 "Good evening, Eliza. Will you please tell 
 Miss Manning I am here?" 
 
 "She's got the headache, Mr. Fabian." 
 
 "So Mr. Sidney said; but I thought she 
 might see me for just a minute. I want to tell 
 her something important." 
 
 "Well, that's too bad, 'cause she's gone to 
 bed. I'll take any message you want me to, 
 and give it to her in the morning. I 'd rather 
 not disturb her now 'cause I just took her up a 
 pitcher o' water and she told me she was goin' 
 to try to go to sleep." 
 
 Edgar was so blankly silent that Eliza spoke 
 again. 
 
 " I '11 call Mrs. Wright if you 'd rather see her. 
 She 's in her room writin' a letter." 
 431
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "No, no, don't trouble yourself," said the 
 visitor, lightly. "Good night." 
 
 He moved away quickly toward the Villa 
 Chantecler and made a detour around it. The 
 little piazza overlooking the sea gleamed white 
 in the moonlight. The bay leaves stood up 
 crisp and polished. Edgar recalled the mocking 
 in Violet's eyes as they had sat there this after- 
 noon. To lose an evening like this. It was a 
 crime! 
 
 Coming out beside the orchard he looked up 
 at the windows of Violet's room. They were 
 dark. 
 
 His hopeful vanity relinquished the hope that 
 she had manoeuvred to get rid of Phil in order 
 to leave the coast clear for himself. He moved 
 up the incline and threw himself down in the 
 shadow. He could hear a stir at the front of 
 the house. The lingerers in the moonlight were 
 moving inside and he could see lamps twinkle in 
 rooms where the shades were pulled down. 
 
 In a few minutes more all lights vanished. 
 Only the rising tide broke the stillness. Edgar 
 had been giving himself over to dreams of a 
 brilliant future in which his only handicap con- 
 sisted of his father's money. Would the cyni- 
 cal blase critics be able to be as fair to him as if 
 432
 
 By Moonlight 
 
 he had been discovered among the peasants of 
 Italy? 
 
 Suddenly he realized that never would a 
 more wonderful stage-setting be his than that 
 which now surrounded him. He rose on his 
 elbow and looked up again at Violet's win- 
 dows. 
 
 Then he began to sing. Into the girl's unrest- 
 ful dreams the sound fell like balm : - 
 
 " Drink to me only with thine eyes, 
 And I will pledge with mine." 
 
 She was wide awake suddenly and looking 
 wide-eyed toward the open windows. 
 
 "Leave but a kiss within the cup 
 And I'll not ask for wine." 
 
 Her heart beat fast and she pressed her hand 
 over her eyes, every faculty absorbed in listen- 
 ing to the melting loveliness of the voice. 
 
 Last night she would have knelt happily by 
 the open window and called out a hushed 
 "Bravo," to the singer. 
 
 Now she lay perfectly still after the song 
 ceased. 
 
 "It is because there isn't any other girl 
 here," she reflected. "He is a fashionable man 
 with countless friends. I am a dancing-teacher 
 433
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 whom he forgets in town and always will forget. 
 
 -That's the most beautiful voice in the 
 world," she thought with swift irrelevance; but 
 Edgar, looking up at the windows, saw only 
 blankness. He smiled to himself. He felt that 
 she was not asleep. 
 
 The moon shed a wondrous luminous glow in 
 the clear heavens as it sailed above him. The 
 " man " looked into vast space as though no 
 such hilarity as that of his earlier mood had 
 been possible. 
 
 Edgar sang again. The higher the range of 
 the song, with the more ease did his voice thrill 
 the still night. 
 
 "Oh, Moon of my delight, that knows no wane, 
 The Moon of heaven is rising once again. 
 How oft hereafter rising shall she look 
 Through this same garden after me in vain! 
 
 And when thyself with shining foot shall pass 
 Among the guests star-scattered on the grass, 
 And in thy joyous errand reach the spot where I made 
 
 one, 
 Turn down an empty glass!" 
 
 Violet did not know when or how she reached 
 the window, but the ending of the song found 
 her kneeling there, sobbing quietly, her head 
 buried on her crossed arms. The moonlight 
 fell on her shining hair. Edgar saw her and, 
 434
 
 By Moonlight 
 
 springing up, came near, careful to keep in 
 shadow, for other window shades had risen 
 
 "Violet!">he called softly. 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "Violet!" he said again. A hand white in the 
 moonlight motioned him away, and he believed 
 that she was weeping. Tears of sympathy, of 
 triumph, sprang to his own eyes. So before very 
 long would hundreds be shaken by his art. 
 
 "Just say good night, Violet," he begged 
 softly; but she would not look up. She waved 
 her hand again, and her shade came down. 
 
 Only one week since she had come to the 
 island and it seemed months. Her aunt's words 
 had pierced what she knew now had been a 
 hope. How could she have been so insane as to 
 hope it ! Even given such a wild supposition as 
 that Edgar Fabian would marry a nobody, 
 what comfort or peace was in store for his wife? 
 Violet had seen a play called "The Concert," 
 in which a wife had been obliged to share her 
 artist husband with a miscellaneous lot of female 
 admirers. Better a thousand times to marry a 
 shoemaker or any other obscure body and so be 
 left to his undisturbed possession. 
 
 Aunt Amy was terribly right. More right 
 than she knew. 
 
 435
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Violet crept back to bed in a tumult of sensi- 
 ble reasoning, accompanying which was an in- 
 toxicating obbligato of divine music, which 
 sang and sang through her excited brain. 
 
 Meanwhile Edgar, strolling back deliberately 
 through the field, smiled at his own thoughts. 
 So the mocking eyes had been quenched. What 
 a fine combination that girl was : so spirited, so 
 sincere, so temperamental. 
 
 Kathleen's appeal recurred to him. "She's 
 right, I suppose," he reflected. "After smelling 
 hothouse flowers all winter, the wild rose is al- 
 luring; but " his further thoughts were vague; 
 but they comprised a virtuous intention of fair 
 play towards the girl whom he had left weeping 
 at the feet of his genius. 
 
 Kathleen sprang to a sitting posture as 
 Philip approached the hammock, and sitting on 
 its edge, swung gently. 
 
 "Well," he said, smiling, "are n't we going to 
 the rocks?" 
 
 "Oh, are we?" 
 
 "Certainly. I was afraid I should n't get 
 back before you had gone. I was afraid you and 
 Edgar might be making the most of the oppor- 
 tunity for a fraternal tete-d-tete" 
 436
 
 By Moonlight 
 
 "We were; but we found the piazza satisfac- 
 tory for it." 
 
 "Blase creatures!" returned Phil. "Hurry, 
 Kathleen," he added eagerly. "Get your 
 coat." 
 
 "I wonder if mother may not need me." 
 
 "No one needs you so much as I do to- 
 night," was the impulsive response. "The 
 Villa finished, a summer's work before me, a 
 full moon, a rising tide. I feel as if I could 
 hardly contain myself to-night, and I've been 
 holding my wings folded, and listening to Miss 
 Foster and Eliza deplore the high price of fruit, 
 and sympathizing with Miss Manning's head- 
 ache, and holding wool for Mrs. Wright, all the 
 time in a prickly heat for fear you would be 
 gone somewhere; and then to get over here and 
 find you lying like a little white cloud in the 
 hammock it 's just like everything else that 
 happens to me just the best thing in the 
 world!" 
 
 Kathleen laughed at the boyish joy of his 
 tone. "Well, I'll see if mother needs me," she 
 said, and went into the house and to her 
 mother's room. 
 
 The moonlight streamed across the floor and 
 the figure on the bed turned. "Is that you, 
 437
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Kathleen?" asked the prostrate one, through 
 her nose. 
 
 "Yes, how are you feeling, dear? Can I do 
 anything for you ? " 
 
 "Why, yes, Kathleen. If you've had enough 
 of the piazza, you might light the lamp and 
 read to me a little while." 
 
 The simple request magnified itself to a disas- 
 ter. Kathleen frowned, not at her mother, but 
 at herself. Was this all the progress she had 
 made? 
 
 "Shall I leave Phil alone?" she asked quietly. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian revived. "I thought he was 
 over at the Wrights." 
 
 "He was; but he just came home. Violet had 
 a headache, too." 
 
 "Where is Edgar?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "Oh, then, stay with him. It's too bad for a 
 headache in every house to spoil his evening. I 
 wonder if I could n't get down to the piazza. 
 Perhaps I 'd feel better in the fresh air." 
 
 A little pulse, its existence hitherto unsus- 
 pected, began doing queer things in Kathleen's 
 throat. 
 
 "Phil wants to go down to the rocks," she 
 said. 
 
 438
 
 By Moonlight 
 
 "Well, why does n't he? He was mooning all 
 over the island alone last night." 
 
 "He thinks I am going with him. I came in 
 for my coat. Shall I tell him you need me?" 
 
 "Oh, no. Go with him. And don't speak to 
 me when you come in. I shall be asleep. I 'm 
 feeling better." 
 
 Kathleen came over to the bed and kissed her 
 mother, and Mrs. Fabian patted her hand. 
 "Tell Phil I wish I could go, too," she said with 
 nasal sleepiness. 
 
 Kathleen smiled, and going to her own room 
 took a white polo coat and hurried downstairs. 
 
 Phil met her with relief, and she gave him a 
 couple of cushions. 
 
 "I began to think," he said, "that she did 
 want you." 
 
 "Only for a minute," returned Kathleen. 
 " She sent word she wished she was able to come 
 with us." 
 
 The girl looked up at her companion as they 
 moved down on the grass and he smiled at her 
 with bravado. 
 
 "Not one polite lie to-night," he answered; 
 "I want you all to myself. Think how seldom 
 it has happened." 
 
 Kathleen laughed from sheer contentment. 
 
 439
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "I think Cap'n James is the only one who 
 has seen you alone," she replied. 
 
 "He's been a trump: and now," Phil in- 
 flated his lungs and looked about the irregular 
 outline of the island lying in sheeted silver, and 
 at the great lighthouses flashing in the distance, 
 "I have a foothold in this paradise." 
 
 Their destination was the spot where rocks 
 rose highest on the island's shore, turning the 
 rising tide into boiling cauldrons of white foam, 
 and meeting the tremendous impact of the great 
 waves with jagged granite shelves that flung the 
 compact water high in fountains of diamonds. 
 Giant power, giant unrest, fascinating beauty 
 glittering with phosphorescence, and silvered 
 for miles with moonlight. 
 
 "Let me help you, Kathleen," said Phil, offer- 
 ing his hand. 
 
 "'Bred and bawn in a briar patch,"' she re- 
 sponded, springing lightly over the rocks. 
 
 "I follow you, then," he answered; and 
 Kathleen led the way to a partly sheltered 
 nook, too inaccessible for most less-accustomed 
 visitors, and so, remote from certain other 
 figures which loomed penguin-like on points of 
 rock. 
 
 "Father thinks he made the mistake of his 
 440
 
 By Moonlight 
 
 life in not buying the island outright," said the 
 girl; "then there would n't be any penguins." 
 
 "Supposing you had bought the Villa Chan- 
 tecler? Where would I be?" asked Phil, as he 
 settled down a little below the seat she had 
 chosen, and tried to put the second cushion be- 
 hind her back. 
 
 "Not at all," she said, turning to him. 
 "Share and share alike." She laughed softly. 
 "When I'm married, I'm going to have the 
 tenderloin cut in two. Once in a while a hus- 
 band wants his wife to have it all, but mostly 
 I've noticed the wife expects the husband to 
 have it all." 
 
 "That's like my mother," said Phil, resting 
 his elbow on the discarded cushion. " I have the 
 most wonderful mother." 
 
 "I know you have." Kathleen met the eyes 
 lifted to her with a gaze as grave as their own 
 and a sympathy that opened the flood-gates to 
 all that was pressing in her companion's heart 
 to-night. 
 
 "No one but myself knows how wonderful," 
 said Phil, looking back at the water, something 
 swelling in his throat. After a pause he went 
 on. "We never had much money, and I 
 could n't pull away and do what I wished. 
 441
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 That would be no return for my father's efforts 
 and denials for me. Mother understood. Her 
 whole life was a living example of self-denial and 
 courage. She taught me to think clearly and 
 showed me the value of noble-mindedness, 
 virtue, and controlling love. It was her splendid 
 patience and wisdom that gave me education 
 and standing-room in the world." 
 
 Kathleen did not speak, but he felt her recep- 
 tivity. 
 
 " It was very early when I began to think and 
 dream and plan along entirely different lines 
 from those my lot promised. My whole being 
 from a child cried out for artistic expression; 
 and what pathetic outbursts there were ! I un- 
 derstand it now. Does n't it seem natural for a 
 child born in the month of May with a mother 
 like a Madonna, sweet and gentle, to chase but- 
 terflies and pick flowers for their beauty and 
 fragrance ? And that child I can't remember 
 when he did n't long to create; but firmly, day 
 by day, he was urged toward the practical. 
 Create! Yes; but let it be machinery; money. 
 
 "The marble building with its sculpture 
 
 against the blue of the sky, the painting that 
 
 makes men wonder, the book that sets their 
 
 hearts to throbbing that was what I craved; 
 
 442
 
 By Moonlight 
 
 and often lost my head in craving, my whole 
 being vibrating with a great cry of joy in the 
 thought of such creation. Can't you see it? The 
 month of May and the flowers and God's 
 universe and the boy!" 
 
 The last word choked in Phil's throat. 
 
 "Your mother," said Kathleen in a low voice. 
 "She understood." 
 
 Phil looked up, and surprised the tenderness, 
 the comprehension in the face bent toward him. 
 " She understood," he returned slowly, "but she 
 thought she saw her duty. I went to college. I 
 forgot her many times, and every time I was a 
 fool. At last, I came out and was put to the 
 treadmill ; but in my last year at school a won- 
 derful thing happened to my mother. A Mr. 
 Tremaine visited our cabin and left with her a 
 little book. Sometime I will tell you about it if 
 you care to know; but it made a great difference 
 in her life. My work in the mine seemed typical 
 of my life. The grime, the clank of machinery, 
 the perfunctory drudgery, and the hand's 
 breath of blue sky above. I crushed my long- 
 ings and tried to be practical. Could purga- 
 tory be worse than, with such a nature, to be 
 caged in underground gloom? The glimpse of 
 sky was like my mother's eyes with their joy, 
 443
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 their knowledge. She talked to me, she per- 
 meated me with the new point of view; the new 
 strength; the new patience. My father praised 
 my efficiency, and then suddenly the nightmare 
 was broken by a message as from heaven 
 you know the rest!" Philip turned quickly, and 
 again met his companion's speaking eyes. 
 
 "Kathleen, can you forgive me!" he ex- 
 claimed. "This has been an orgy of egotism!" 
 Even as he gazed, the dark eyes veiled them- 
 selves. Only then he realized how wide-open 
 the doors had been thrown. 
 
 "I thank you for telling me," she said, with 
 her direct look. 
 
 "I seem," he answered, with a vague unrest, 
 "I seem always to have been going to tell 
 you. There is there is no one but you to 
 whom I could talk like that." He stared out on 
 the water, then changed the position of the 
 cushion. 
 
 "Was that Mr. Tremaine a publisher? " asked 
 Kathleen. 
 
 "I don't know. Mother has always wished 
 she might know who he was." 
 
 "There is a Mr. Tremaine who lives in Gra- 
 mercy Park who is a friend of father's." 
 
 "Gramercy Park?" repeated Phil, and sud- 
 444
 
 By Moonlight 
 
 denly remembered. "Then I believe his son 
 and heir was my first and only patron. I made 
 a picture for a small Tremaine one day in the 
 park with Violet Manning." 
 
 "Would n't it be odd if it turned out to be 
 the same?" said Kathleen. 
 
 A magnificent burst of spray clattering in 
 myriad drops on the rock near them warned 
 them that their tenure of the place was short. 
 
 The girl smiled. " I think, as we have spoken 
 of Mr. Tremaine, I must return your confidence 
 with another"; and Phil, looking up suddenly, 
 saw a new shy consciousness in the slender face 
 which was for some reason disagreeable. 
 
 "Don't tell me to-night, Kathleen!" he said 
 impulsively. 
 
 "Why not?" she asked, wondering. 
 
 "I don't know," he answered honestly; 
 "only that everything is perfect. What you 
 tell me might change it. Any change would be 
 for the worse." 
 
 Kathleen smiled thoughtfully into space. 
 
 " I suppose," she said, with a little shrug, 
 "if you had urged me I might have popped 
 back into my shell. I 'm terribly at home in 
 a shell! But as it is I think I'm going to tell 
 you." 
 
 445
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Phil looked at the delicate face, smiling in the 
 moonlight. 
 
 "Is it something you have made up your 
 mind to do?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," she answered, looking at him, sur- 
 prised. "How did you guess?" 
 
 "Then don't tell me till to-morrow. I want 
 to think that this won't end that it will al- 
 ways be a rising tide and and we watching 
 it together." 
 
 That newly acquired pulse of Kathleen's as- 
 serted itself again, but she swallowed past it 
 resolutely. "Oh, I shall still be able to watch 
 the rising tide once in a while," she an- 
 swered, laughing. "But I'm going to tell you. 
 I'm writing a little book. There!" 
 
 "What?" cried Phil. 
 
 "Yes, and I'm going to publish it. Mr. Tre- 
 maine likes the idea. He is the only one I've 
 told." 
 
 "And is that all?" asked Phil eagerly. 
 
 "All!" Kathleen regarded him with mock 
 indignation. The little pulse prevented its be- 
 ing genuine. " Is all you 're going to do, just to 
 paint pictures, Mr. Sidney?" 
 
 "Why, I think that's bully," exclaimed 
 Phil, turning so suddenly as to test the 
 
 446
 
 By Moonlight 
 
 sharpness of his rocky couch. "Tell me about 
 it." 
 
 "Well, for the past year, I have been be- 
 witched by the microscope. It reveals a world 
 that we are too clumsy to discern. The idea 
 occurred to me to write a series of microscopic 
 fairy tales." 
 
 "Fine! Fine!" 
 
 "It's great fun. And of course they will be 
 illustrated." 
 
 "Who's going to do it?" 
 
 "You." 
 
 Phil looked up quickly. She was laughing 
 and blushing. "Of course you would n't con- 
 sider it," she said, "but there might be money 
 in it. How do you feel toward pot-boilers?" 
 
 "I don't know, Kathleen. Tell me more. 
 What sort of illustrations?" 
 
 "Well, you saw me with that moss yester- 
 day that I had brought up out of the woods? 
 The slide I was making was to be the design for 
 a tree in the illustration. I thought to make the 
 pictures educational in a way. To put in a 
 corner of the page what the original was. Moss, 
 seaweed, an aphide, or whatever it happened to 
 be." 
 
 "What a pretty idea!" said Phil. 
 
 447
 
 "Of course, you don't want to do it, though,'* 
 she went on in a different tone. "Just as your 
 studio is finished, and you are aching to paint." 
 
 "It's good of you to think of me," replied the 
 artist warmly. "I don't know that I could do 
 that work. I should have to satisfy Mr. Tre- 
 maine with a sample. We could n't put our edu- 
 cational tips on the pictures, but there could be 
 a thin cover for each illustration with the de- 
 scription on a corner of that." 
 
 "Oh, yes, much better," agreed Kathleen. 
 
 They talked a little longer and the splendid 
 tide suddenly splashed them with glittering 
 spray. 
 
 "A broad hint," laughed Kathleen, springing 
 up. "We must go back." 
 
 Phil sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, and get- 
 ting reluctantly to his feet, he started to give 
 his hand to Kathleen, then remembering that 
 she preferred independence, he picked up the 
 cushions and started ahead of her. 
 
 They had nearly crossed the rocks when a cry 
 from her arrested him. 
 
 He turned. She had sunk down in the moon- 
 light. 
 
 "Oh, how dull of me!" she cried. "I'm used 
 to my rubber-soled shoes." 
 
 448
 
 By Moonlight 
 
 "What! Turned your ankle?" Phil flung the 
 cushions over upon the grass, and hurried to 
 her. 
 
 "I'm afraid so." 
 
 "I ought to have helped you," said Phil, with 
 contrition, "but I thought you preferred - 
 
 "I do. I'm a regular mountain goat." 
 Kathleen was half laughing in a way that 
 showed her pain. 
 
 Phil lifted her gently, and she went on : - 
 
 "Everybody knows nowadays that the best 
 way to treat a strain is to walk right ahead. 
 Oh!" 
 
 "Yes, that may do on flat ground," said 
 Phil; "I'm a mountain goat too, so don't be 
 afraid "; and, lifting her in his arms, he carried 
 her over the remaining rocks and set her down 
 upon the grassy bank.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 TIDES 
 
 PHILIP paused a moment when he reached the 
 grassy bank. 
 
 "You're quite sure you wish to walk?" he 
 said. 
 
 "I certainly am," she returned with an effort 
 at lightness. "It 's the best thing I can do, now 
 that I've been so careless." 
 
 He set her down gently, and picked up the 
 cushions with one hand while he put the other 
 under her arm, and they started ; but there was 
 no path; the points of granite and the grassy 
 hummocks made difficult walking for sound 
 feet. Phil felt his companion's sudden limps and 
 cringes, the while she was talking valiantly of 
 the satisfaction it was to feel that a little pain 
 did n't matter, so long as one knew that the 
 best thing for a strain was exercise; but all the 
 time it seemed to her that home was miles away, 
 and that this Transgressors' Boulevard would 
 never end. 
 
 Phil smiled down at the dark uncovered head 
 450
 
 Tides 
 
 so near his shoulder; then as she sank in an un- 
 expected hollow : - 
 
 "Pluck is all very well, Kathleen," he said, 
 "but I 'm going to pick you up again." 
 
 "No, no, Phil! You could never carry me 
 home. I 'm much too heavy to be doing these 
 foolish things." Tears of vexation stood in the 
 girl's eyes. 
 
 "I needn't carry you home," he returned 
 quietly, "but it is all my fault that you slipped. 
 As soon as we get to level ground you shall try 
 again. Cushions will be safe in Arcadia, I fancy," 
 he added, storing them at the foot of a rock they 
 were passing. "I can come back for them." 
 
 "Put this heavy polo coat with them," said 
 Kathleen, trying not to cry. "No need of carry- 
 ing any more than you have to. Oh, Phil, 
 really! I could hop. Could n't I hop if you lifted 
 me on one side?" 
 
 "We'll hop, skip, and jump when we get 
 on the level," he returned, wrapping the coat 
 carefully about her, and taking her up again. 
 
 "Put your arm around my neck, please. 
 There we are." He moved on at a good pace. 
 "Can't you feel that it's easy?" 
 
 "I'm so ashamed to make you this trouble." 
 Kathleen's lip quivered. 
 451
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "I'm so ashamed that you are hurt, but I 
 need the exercise," rejoined her bearer. "What 
 am I going to do now that I don't have to strug- 
 gle with the Villa? Have you a rowboat?" 
 
 "Yes," returned Kathleen, in a small voice. 
 
 They were approaching a cottage with sight- 
 less midnight eyes. She had no idea what time 
 it was, but devoutly hoped they were the only 
 persons awake on the island. It was ridiculous 
 to be carried about like this, and a terrible im- 
 position on an innocent guest; but how wonder- 
 ful he was, striding along from hummock to 
 hummock with apparent ease. 
 
 "Then I'll do some rowing, if you'll let me. 
 Do you like to row?" 
 
 "Yes," came again in such a small, choked 
 voice, that Phil suddenly turned his head and 
 his face came close to Kathleen's. The elegant 
 remote Miss Fabian, with the slumbrous eyes 
 and the red-brown hair, was a helpless child in 
 his arms. 
 
 "Are you suffering?" he asked, and such a 
 note of tenderness sounded suddenly in his 
 voice that the girl's heart gave a great throb. 
 
 "Only in my mind," she faltered, trying to 
 laugh. "You '11 set me down as soon as we reach 
 the point, won't you? It's easy from there." 
 452
 
 Tides 
 
 It was not very easy from there, but Kathleen 
 set her teeth, and walked it, leaning on Phil's 
 arm, and sometimes stopping to rest. 
 
 "And I thought it was such a small island," 
 she said with a little sighing laugh when at last 
 the home piazza was reached. 
 
 Philip helped her upstairs to her room. 
 
 "Shall I knock on your mother's door?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "No, indeed. I can get on perfectly well 
 now." She held out her hand. "Will you for- 
 give me?" 
 
 He took it and looked straight into her eyes 
 without speaking. 
 
 For an instant he held her hand, still mute, 
 then turned, and instead of going to his room 
 went downstairs again. 
 
 Kathleen, closing her door softly, heard him. 
 She stood a moment perfectly still, her lam- 
 bent eyes looking into space, the long straight 
 lines of her white coat shining in the dim 
 room. 
 
 " If it should be ! " she thought with awe. " If 
 it should be!" 
 
 Philip went out on the porch. The tide was 
 receding and dragging in and out the stones of 
 the beach. He frowned thoughtfully at the roll- 
 453
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 ing expanse. "This is disturbing," he reflected. 
 His blood was pumping and dragging mightily 
 at locked doors of his own which he knew must 
 be locked for years to come. 
 
 "And even then it cannot be Kathleen who 
 opens them," he reminded himself. While she 
 was flashing about to fashionable functions 
 in her limousine the coming season, he would 
 still be planning which meal to make the sub- 
 stantial one of the day. 
 
 "The cushions!" he thought suddenly, and, 
 finding relief in action, he began running back 
 with long, even strides, through the silent, sil- 
 vered fields. 
 
 Before ten o'clock the next morning Edgar 
 presented himself at the farmhouse to make 
 inquiries for the invalid. He was eager to begin 
 treating Violet right ; and as a commencement he 
 brought a box of bonbons which he had ordered 
 from the city before that resolution was made. 
 However, flowers and candy were conventional 
 attentions. So were books. He reflected that 
 no one could criticize his giving Violet a 
 marked copy of Tennyson. 
 
 "She isn't here," Mrs. Wright told him 
 when he reached the house. "She has gone 
 
 454
 
 Tides 
 
 somewhere to get an extra coat of tan and see 
 the tide come in." 
 
 "Why didn't I come sooner!" exclaimed 
 Edgar, vexed. "I thought her headache I 
 thought she would n't be up early." 
 
 "Oh, I think you must have exorcised that 
 last night," said Mrs. Wright. "How we all 
 enjoyed the medicine! Will you promise to sing 
 every night if one of us will fall ill?" 
 
 Edgar smiled and twisted his mustache. 
 "We have a lame duck over at our house," he 
 said. "Kathleen managed to slip on the rocks 
 last night. She 's as plucky as they make 'em, 
 though. She's limping around. Phil was with 
 her not very bright of him, I must say." 
 
 "Oh, I'm sorry he has that cloud over his 
 first morning at the studio," returned Mrs. 
 Wright. "I saw him go in there an hour 
 ago." 
 
 "You're sure Violet is n't there?" asked Ed- 
 gar quickly. 
 
 "Oh, perfectly," rejoined Mrs.Wrightquietly. 
 "We're as much warned off the Villa as ever, 
 now, you know. I hope he is going to do great 
 things." 
 
 "Yes, I hope so," said Edgar absently. "This 
 full sunlight is n't particularly good for Violet's 
 455
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 head. Don't you think I'd better find her and 
 get her out of it?" 
 
 "Oh, it's the steadiest little head in the world. 
 Last night was simply the exception that proves 
 the rule." 
 
 "Well, then, she'll be fit for tennis. I'm go- 
 ing to find her and see if we can't have some 
 singles before dinner." 
 
 "All right, if you can find her." 
 
 Edgar tossed his head. "Perhaps I could n't 
 put a girdle 'round the earth, but this island's 
 a cinch " ; and with the beribboned box under 
 his arm and the sun glinting on his polished blond 
 head, Edgar set off running toward the rocks 
 where Kathleen had met her slip. 
 
 Perhaps, he reflected, it was just as well that 
 Violet had been hors de combat last evening. If 
 they had come down here in the moonlight, and 
 he had sung, and she had turned upon him that 
 wonderful, confiding, devout look which warmed 
 every fibre of his vanity, there is no telling 
 what he might have said or done. He was 
 shrewd enough to know that Mrs. Larrabee's 
 rebuff had caused a rebound in which just such 
 an innocent, womanly girl as Violet Manning 
 could catch his heart in both hands. She had 
 laughed at him yesterday afternoon, and to 
 456
 
 Tides 
 
 force her to capitulate he might have done 
 something foolish in the evening. Now that 
 pitfall the time, the place, and the girl - 
 was past, and the bright clear winds of morning 
 found him forewarned and forearmed; but 
 friendly, perfectly friendly. He thoroughly 
 liked Violet Manning. 
 
 All this time he was running toward the show- 
 place at high tide, the precipitous rocks whose 
 walls and crannies repulsed the crashing waves, 
 causing a never-ending series of fountains, and 
 cascades of crystal water. 
 
 A few penguins in shade hats studded the 
 heights this morning, but Violet was not among 
 them. He walked past slowly, scanning the 
 rocks. A few rods farther on, a small harbor 
 pierced the island's side. Its farther bank was 
 soft with evergreens; a sturdy growth of tall 
 spruces which fixed their roots amid the in- 
 hospitable rocks. 
 
 An artist had set up his easel on the near 
 shore, and was sitting on a camp-stool before 
 it, working busily. A large straw hat was 
 crowded down to the tops of his ears to thwart 
 the wind, and Edgar wondered who might be 
 the competitor of the painter who was working 
 away at the Villa Chantecler. He glanced 
 457
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 carelessly at the artist and then renewed his 
 scrutiny of the rocks; being so engrossed, that 
 the next time his gaze went forward, he saw that 
 a girl was lying on the rock near the easel, lean- 
 ing on her elbow and alternately watching the 
 artist and the sea. 
 
 Edgar suspected the truth with a wave of 
 anger. How could Phil be in two places at once ? 
 He had allowed Kathleen to slip on the rocks. 
 Probably he had been absent-minded. This 
 had been planned for; Mrs. Wright could n't 
 have known it. 
 
 He strode forward. 
 
 "Good morning!" he said, with awe-inspiring 
 dignity. 
 
 "Oh, hello," returned Violet carelessly, turn- 
 ing her head so as to see the newcomer. 
 
 Could this nonchalant girl be she who had 
 wept at the window ! 
 
 "I went over to the house to see how you 
 were," said Edgar severely, "and Mrs. Wright 
 said you were watching the tide." 
 
 "Yes," returned Violet, lazy in the sun, 
 "but I found something so much better to 
 watch." 
 
 "You can't see anything from there," de- 
 clared Edgar, speaking crisply. 
 
 458
 
 Tides 
 
 "Do you allow that, Mr. Sidney?" asked the 
 girl. 
 
 "I allow anything but people to talk to me," 
 said Phil, busy with the blues and greens of the 
 water. 
 
 "There, you see!" said Violet accusingly. 
 "He hadn't said a word of reproach to me be- 
 fore you came"; and the little minx allowed 
 herself to throw a devoted glance in the direc- 
 tion of the artist's hat. If the mouse were 
 going ultimately to make its escape, surely the 
 kitten was entitled to whatever fun it could 
 find in the situation. 
 
 Edgar pulled himself together. 
 
 "It's great just now," he said. "Don't you 
 want to come out on the rocks, and see the 
 row?" 
 
 Violet shook her head and touched her finger 
 to her lips warningly. 
 
 Edgar scowled and looked at Phil's swift 
 brush. Confound the girl, how was he to treat 
 her magnanimously if she would n't give him 
 an opportunity? 
 
 He held out the beribboned box and raised 
 his eyebrows, gesturing' with his head toward 
 the rocks. 
 
 "Is there a string tied to it?" asked Violet, 
 
 459
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 with a saucy, lazy smile; and Edgar lifted his 
 chin superbly and tossed the box into her 
 lap. 
 
 "The only girl here," she reflected ; for she felt 
 tempted to be flattered by the implied fore- 
 thought. 
 
 "How perfectly sweet," she said and opened 
 the luxurious box. Rising to her knees she lifted 
 a chocolate in the little tongs and put it in 
 Philip's mouth. 
 
 "Mille remerciments," he mumbled; "but 
 don't do it again, please." 
 
 "Phil wants to be alone," said Edgar. " Can't 
 you see that?" He held out his hand to Violet 
 to rise. She ignored it, but rose with supple 
 grace. 
 
 "Well," she said, " if little boys will come and 
 chatter to me, I suppose I shall have to go. It's 
 been so interesting, Mr. Sidney. That's going 
 to be wonderful. I hope you '11 let me watch you 
 again sometime." 
 
 "You didn 't really want to stay there, did 
 you?" asked Edgar, when they had begun to 
 climb out on the rocks at a point where there 
 were no other gazers. 
 
 "Indeed I did, marplot," returned the girl, 
 "but three's a crowd when one is painting." 
 460
 
 Tides 
 
 "Oh, very well," said Edgar, stiffly; "I'll 
 stay away the next time." 
 
 "That's right. Do," returned Violet. "Have 
 a chocolate? These are delicious." 
 
 "No, I thank you." Edgar gave a dark 
 glance at his companion. He did not like her 
 mood. 
 
 "I didn't know you cared more for painting 
 than for music," he said. 
 
 "More?" she returned with wide eyes. "Oh, 
 no, I 'm an impartial and humble admirer of all 
 the arts." 
 
 Was n't she going to speak of last evening? 
 He stood in silence beside her for a space to 
 give her opportunity; but she was engrossed in 
 munching a chocolate. 
 
 "My!" she said, regarding the heavy, satin, 
 heart-shaped crimson box admiringly, "I've 
 gazed at these with awe in shop windows, and 
 then gone in and bought ten cents worth in a 
 striped bag. I feel so grand!" 
 
 "I was disappointed last night," said Ed- 
 gar, his gloomy regard changing slowly to his 
 best look of devotion. There was nothing for 
 him in Violet's eyes this morning. The expres- 
 sion he craved must be brought back in order 
 that he might exercise care to treat her fairly. 
 461
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Because I couldn't go to walk with Mr. 
 Sidney?" she rejoined, with the ironical gayety 
 Edgar hated. "I was, too; but your charming 
 serenade almost made up for it." 
 
 Edgar ground the even teeth. " I suppose it 
 was foolish of me to exert myself," he said. "I 
 probably waked you up." 
 
 "Oh, it did n't sound like the least bit of 
 exertion," replied Violet. "The ease of your 
 singing is really its great charm. You did n't 
 mind my laughing, right at the end, did you?" 
 
 "Laughing!" 
 
 "Yes; you see Miss Foster is on my side of 
 the house, and when you sang 
 
 * Turn down an empty glass,' 
 
 I knew she'd think it was a prohibition song, 
 and I nearly suffocated." 
 
 Edgar met her dancing eyes, and glared at 
 her while she ate a chocolate with relish. 
 
 "And I thought you were temperamental!" 
 he muttered. 
 
 "Do you wonder really that Maine is a pro- 
 hibition state?" she asked conversationally. 
 "Here, eat this peppermint one for me. I don't 
 like them," and the even teeth opened mechani- 
 cally to receive the bonbon she popped between 
 
 462
 
 Tides 
 
 them. "I mean because it's so intoxicating 
 here anyway. Why, I can hardly keep my feet 
 still this morning"; and as they were standing, 
 Violet, on her flat rock, and with the great crim- 
 son heart pressed to her breast, began to clog. 
 
 Edgar half unconsciously moved away to 
 where he could see her nimble feet. "Whistle," 
 she laughed. "Whistle, and I won't come to 
 you, my lad!" 
 
 Edgar whistled, he could n't help it. Her fair 
 hair blowing, her sea-blue eyes shining, and her 
 sure feet dancing, she seemed the incarnation 
 of the radiant morning. He found himself pat- 
 ting in rhythm, and whistling like a bird until 
 she tired and sank in a blue heap on the rock. 
 
 "Oh, it's a jolly world," she cried. 
 
 "And you're a jolly girl!" he exclaimed, 
 striding over and flinging himself down beside 
 her. "Why don't you teach me to do that ? You 
 promised. " 
 
 " I 've begun twice, have n't I ? You have n't 
 any patience." 
 
 "Oh, that was in the woods. What could I do 
 on a hillside? Teach me in the summer house 
 this afternoon." 
 
 "That's where you ought to be now, prac- 
 tising," said Violet. 
 
 463
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "I've put in half an hour this morning." 
 
 "That is n't enough. It's time for another." 
 
 "Oh, you want me to go, do you, so you can 
 go back and watch Phil?" 
 
 "Well, I never before had a chance to see the 
 wheels go 'round in a painting. Don't you think 
 it's wonderful?" 
 
 "Yes, he's a wizard. It's a pity you could n't 
 go with him last night. He took Kath and she 
 managed to turn her ankle." 
 
 " So he has been telling me. I 'm sorry. So 
 you'd rather have had mine turned? Then I 
 could n't have taught you to clog, remember." 
 
 "No ; he might not have gone mooning around 
 then. He might have paid more attention to 
 you" 
 
 Violet glanced at the speaker out of the tail of 
 her eye and ate a chocolate. Then she cast a 
 look over on the point where the easel stood. 
 "He is so good-looking," she sighed. "I like 
 smooth-faced men." 
 
 "My mustache is catching it next, is it?" said 
 Edgar irritably, twisting that treasure. 
 
 "Oh, I simply despise mustaches," rejoined 
 Violet equably; "but of course if it makes you 
 look older, or more dignified, or helps you in 
 your career, you have to wear one." 
 
 464
 
 Tides 
 
 "I don't know as there's any 'have to' about 
 it," returned Edgar. "It's just a matter of 
 taste with me"; he made the addition with a 
 superior carelessness. 
 
 "So it is with me," returned Violet with 
 engaging frankness. "Here's another pepper- 
 mint." She picked it up in the silver tongs. 
 "Open your mouth and shut your eyes and I '11 
 give you something to make you wise." 
 
 Edgar jerked back his head, seized the con- 
 fection in his fingers, and scaled it across the 
 rocks. 
 
 "I loathe peppermint," he said shortly, "and 
 as for making me wise, you're making me wiser 
 every day. Will you, or will you not give me 
 a lesson in clogging this afternoon?" 
 
 "I will!" returned Violet, dramatically. 
 "You paid partly in advance last night, and 
 I'm the soul of honor!" 
 
 He met her mischievous eyes with a baffled 
 look. He longed to shake her. His hand lifted 
 mechanically to his mustache and dropped 
 again. He had lost faith in that, too.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE SON 
 
 WHEN Philip returned to dinner that day he 
 found a strange man sitting on the veranda with 
 Kathleen. The table beside her was filled with 
 loose sheets of paper, and she was reading aloud. 
 
 As Phil approached she looked up. 
 
 " We spoke of an angel last night," she said, 
 "and lo, he appeared to-day. This is Mr. Tre- 
 maine, and he knows you already." 
 
 Phil laid down his impedimenta and his hat, 
 and shook hands. 
 
 The grey-eyed portly stranger smiled as they 
 greeted. " Miss Fabian has told me so much 
 about you," he said, "that I am wondering if 
 you belong to the Sidneys who took me in in the 
 mountains of Montana one night five or six 
 years ago." 
 
 Philip's perfunctory gaze quickened. 
 
 "And you left my mother a little book?" he 
 asked quickly. 
 
 The pressure of the newcomer's handclasp 
 tightened. He nodded. 
 
 466
 
 The Son 
 
 "The very same," he said. "And you do be- 
 long to that charming woman." 
 
 "You did a great deal for us, Mr. Tremaine," 
 said Phil heartily. 
 
 "And this Kathleen child says we 're not 
 through with each other. She wants you to il- 
 lustrate this clever little book of hers." 
 
 "If he will," put in the girl quickly. "You 
 don't know yet what small business it will be 
 for him to picture my stuff. Show us what you 
 have done this morning." 
 
 " I hear you are my neighbor in Gramercy 
 Park," said Mr. Tremaine while Phil stooped to 
 get his picture. "I hear that the artist who did 
 my son's treasure, 'The Proud Robin,' stands 
 before me." 
 
 Phil laughed and turned his canvas about. 
 A great wave uplifted its heavy snowy crest, 
 just at the point of breaking into rushing surge. 
 
 " Stand back," cried Kathleen, " it 's coming ! " 
 Her cheeks reddened. "You do such true 
 things, Phil!" 
 
 "Upon my word!" said Mr. Tremaine, " Miss 
 Fabian is right. That's really great, Mr. Sidney. 
 One gets the weight of the water. I think the 
 breadth and perception of the mountains 
 helped you in that. How long have you been 
 467
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 so intimate with the physiognomy of old 
 Ocean?" 
 
 " I have been at this off and on for some days 
 in time stolen from house decoration." 
 
 "There is time before dinner," said Kath- 
 leen, "and Mr. Tremaine is going to stay such 
 a little while, take him over to the Villa. I want 
 him to be sure to see it though I begrudge his 
 seeing it without me, too!" 
 
 "Sure you can't go?" asked Mr. Tremaine. 
 
 Kathleen looked ruefully at her right foot, 
 wearing a loose slipper of her mother's. 
 
 "That field is so rough," she said. 
 
 " We '11 make an armchair," said Phil. 
 
 The girl shook her head. "No, I'll gather up 
 my book. Mr. Tremaine likes it, so I 'm happy 
 though lame, and you must talk over the illus- 
 trations together." 
 
 In truth she was glad that these two should 
 have the opportunity for a tete-a-tete and she 
 smiled happily to herself as she picked up the 
 flying sheets. There was color in her cheeks, 
 the rose-color that seemed this morning to tinge 
 the universe. It was such a beautiful world, and 
 for Mr. Tremaine suddenly to appear and to ap- 
 prove her work and to meet Phil Phil whose 
 eyes had seemed this morning always to see her 
 
 468
 
 The Son 
 
 and regard her reflectively, instead of looking 
 over or through her all this made a wonder- 
 ful combination, a strange, sweet expectancy, 
 as of harmonious progressions which could but 
 resolve into one triumphant chord. 
 
 The dinner hour approached and Mrs. Fa- 
 bian came out on the piazza. 
 
 "How are you, poor child?" she asked with 
 commiseration; then meeting Kathleen's eyes, 
 she laughed. "Here I am pitying you, and you 
 look as if you'd been left a million. What is it? 
 Is Mr. Tremaine so pleased with your stories ? " 
 
 "He thinks they'll do," returned Kathleen. 
 
 "Very modest," said Mrs. Fabian; "but I'm 
 quite sure from your looks that he said you were 
 a second Hans Christian Andersen. Keeping 
 it a secret from me, too! I 'm a very good judge 
 of stories, and you might have asked my opinion 
 about those, at any rate." 
 
 "I felt very shy about it, mother, but now 
 I'm just bubbling with encouragement; and 
 perhaps Phil will make the pictures." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian regarded the rosy face admir- 
 ingly. 
 
 "There, you see his business is coming along, 
 and this morning I gave him the commission to 
 paint our portraits." 
 
 469
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Even this news could not dampen Kathleen's 
 present mood. 
 
 "Yours," she returned. "Remember, I told 
 you I refused to be perpetuated as I look now." 
 
 "I never saw you look as pretty as you do 
 to-day, in your whole life," said Mrs. Fabian, 
 gazing as she spoke. 
 
 The girl laughed from sheer satisfaction. " Is 
 the big head so becoming?" she returned. 
 
 " I saw Phil taking Mr. Tremaine over to the 
 studio," said Mrs. Fabian. "Edgar said this 
 morning he wanted to bring Violet to dinner. 
 He will be surprised to find Mr. Tremaine here. 
 We shall have quite a party. I hope they won't 
 all be late. If Phil and Mr. Tremaine get to 
 talking over at the studio they won't know 
 what time it is." 
 
 The air at the island, however, was of a na- 
 ture to create an inner monitor which called to 
 dinner, so the two couples soon approached 
 from opposite directions. Mr. Tremaine and 
 Phil were talking busily as they came, and 
 Kathleen noted Violet's crimson heart while 
 she drew near. She gazed questioningly at her 
 brother whose alert happy face turned red as 
 he met her eyes; but Violet was self-possessed 
 when Kathleen greeted her. 
 
 470
 
 The Son 
 
 "Pardon my remaining enthroned, Violet," 
 she said. "I'm not precisely wasting steps to- 
 day." 
 
 "I heard about it," returned the guest, com- 
 ing up the steps and meeting Mrs. Fabian. "I 
 do hope it's nothing serious." 
 
 "No, indeed. I shall soon forget it." 
 
 " I suppose neither of you will have a choco- 
 late before dessert, but they're very very good." 
 Violet opened the box temptingly as she took 
 a seat beside Kathleen. 
 
 "Who is that coming with Phil?" asked 
 Edgar. 
 
 "My publisher," returned Kathleen, proudly. 
 "Just think, Edgar! I've written some stories, 
 and Mr. Tremaine has accepted them!" 
 
 Edgar lifted his eyebrows and smiled won- 
 deringly into his sister's happy face. "Good 
 work, Kath! It may really pay to be a 
 highbrow. Why have you kept so still about 
 it?" 
 
 "Oh, that was natural. Supposing Mr. Tre- 
 maine had said, ' You 're a nice child, Kathleen, 
 but your little yarns are trash.' How then! 
 Should n't I be glad nobody saw me hide my 
 diminished head?" 
 
 Edgar continued to regard her curiously. He 
 471
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 had never before noticed how really good-look- 
 ing Kath was. 
 
 Violet expressed her interest and sympathy 
 heartily, and while she was speaking, the other 
 guests arrived and Mr. Tremaine met his son's 
 dancing-teacher with pleasure. 
 
 It was a gay dinner-party, and Kathleen 
 glowed with satisfaction in Mr. Tremaine's 
 manifest interest in Phil. He could be such a 
 useful friend. 
 
 They had coffee on the veranda, and while 
 Edgar was planning in what manner and how 
 soon he could segregate himself and Violet in the 
 summer house, the boy whose duty it was to 
 bring the mail appeared with the letters. At a 
 sign from Mrs. Fabian he handed them to her. 
 
 She ran them over with a smile. " I 'm always 
 impolite," she said, "when Mr. Fabian's letter 
 comes, and I think everybody will forgive me." 
 She laid the others on the rail beside her and 
 opened the letter she held. 
 
 " I 'm hoping so much he will set the day for 
 coming." 
 
 The smiling expectancy of her face gave way 
 to bewilderment and incredulity as she read. No 
 one observed it, for Kathleen had started to 
 tell an island adventure. 
 
 472
 
 The Son 
 
 Her mother's voice broke in upon the tale. 
 
 "Kathleen!" she said breathlessly, "I don't 
 understand this letter. Father is in trouble of 
 some kind. He is trying to comfort me. He says 
 to ask you 
 
 Mrs. Fabian looked up at Kathleen whose 
 face was transformed while her mother spoke. 
 The color left it, the laughing eyes grew startled, 
 and she tried to rise. 
 
 Phil sprang to his feet, "What do you want, 
 Kathleen?" 
 
 "The letters!" she said. "See if there is one 
 forme?" 
 
 Edgar, who had been observing how re- 
 markably good was the line of Violet's hair at 
 the nape of her neck, brought his thoughts back 
 with difficulty to his sister. Kath was looking 
 frightened. What was the matter? 
 
 Mr. Tremaine leaned forward in his chair and 
 looked with serious questioning at Kathleen 
 while she tore open a letter from her father. Her 
 brow drew together as she read. Mrs. Fabian 
 regarded her helplessly, two sheets of paper 
 blowing in her fingers. 
 
 When finally the girl dropped her letter her 
 face had flushed again. She rose from her chair 
 with difficulty. 
 
 473
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "I must go to father immediately," she said. 
 
 Phil was at her side in an instant. "You 
 can't do that," he returned, "but you can 
 send me." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian's lips were parted. Edgar 
 frowned and looked from one to another; then 
 he too sprang to his feet. 
 
 " What is this, Kath ? " he asked with sudden 
 authority. 
 
 His sister regarded him absently. Edgar 
 would suffer, of course, but just now, in the 
 crucial moment, he did n't count; and she! Oh, 
 how could fate have been so unkind as to ham- 
 per her at the only time in her life when it 
 would make any difference! A time when she 
 longed for wings to carry her to her father's side 
 and let her throw her arms around his neck. 
 
 She looked at Edgar's frowning, questioning 
 face with curious vagueness. 
 
 " Father has lost a great deal of money," she 
 said, "and friends as well, because he would not 
 yield to plans which he considered dishonorable. 
 He told me before we left that it might come; 
 but he had no idea the crisis was right upon 
 him. Oh, I must, I must go to father at once 
 at once!" The girl limped toward the door. 
 
 "You can't go to-day," said Phil decidedly, 
 474.
 
 The Son 
 
 "but I can. I will go on this next boat with Mr. 
 Tremaine. Tell me what 
 
 " What are you talking about ! " It was Edgar 
 who spoke, and his tone turned every eye upon 
 him. His nostrils were dilated and his eyes 
 looked dark. "Father in trouble! I'm going to 
 him, of course." 
 
 He tried to speak quietly, but there was a 
 thrill in his tone that echoed in Kathleen's heart. 
 She knew as she looked at the new stern expres- 
 sion of the debonair countenance that in that 
 minute the boy had become a man. 
 
 Violet gazed at him with a swelling heart 
 and swept poor Phil with a supercilious glance 
 wholly undeserved, but of which he was uncon- 
 scious. 
 
 Edgar hastened into the house to make his 
 preparations and Kathleen and Phil exchanged 
 a look. 
 
 " It's all for the best," said Phil in a low tone. 
 "Edgar will find himself." 
 
 Kathleen's hands were clasped on her breast. 
 Mrs. Fabian regarded her beseechingly. " What 
 do you mean?" she cried, her voice breaking 
 hysterically. " Money and friends ! What do 
 you mean?" 
 
 Kathleen sank into the chair beside her. " I 
 475
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 mean that father is an honest man," she said 
 proudly. 
 
 Mr. Tremaine came to Mrs. Fabian's other 
 side. "I was at college with your husband," he 
 said. "Henry Fabian was always doing fine 
 things. I suspect that this last move, whatever 
 it is, is one of the finest. I would trust him be- 
 fore I would myself." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian looked from one to the other, 
 tears running down her cheeks. 
 
 "I can't have my portrait painted, Phil," she 
 faltered. "We're very poor." 
 
 Phil knelt dowTi before her and put his arms 
 around her and she rested her head on his shoul- 
 der and sobbed quietly. 
 
 " Perhaps not poor," he said ; " but what if you 
 are, Aunt Isabel? Look about at this beautiful 
 place with everything to make people happy. 
 Health and freedom and honor beside; and Ed- 
 gar will bring his father here and everything will 
 straighten out and we shall make him forget his 
 troubles." 
 
 "No motor, Phil," came from the sobbing wo- 
 man. "I can't imagine living without a motor." 
 
 " Indeed you can. You 're going to show Mr. 
 Fabian what a good sport he married ; and we 're 
 all going to cheer him up and make him forget 
 
 476
 
 The Son 
 
 his nightmare before fall. You have everything 
 that's real left unless Mr. Fabian breaks 
 down under this strain'," added Phil artfully. 
 
 He had struck the right note. Mrs. Fabian 
 lifted her head and wiped her eyes wildly. " I 'm 
 going with Edgar," she cried. " Henry may be 
 ill. I shall go." 
 
 "No, dear mother," said Kathleen, gently 
 taking her hand. "Let Edgar manage this 
 alone. He will wire us at once." 
 
 It was nearly time for the boat and Edgar 
 came out of the house with his bag. All his 
 machinations of the morning had not succeeded 
 in bringing to Violet's eyes the expression that 
 grew there when she saw him ready to start on 
 his hard journey. Speechless and unsmiling he 
 pressed her hand, then kissed his mother and 
 listened to her exhortations. Mr. Tremaine was 
 ready, and together they started toward the- 
 wharf. 
 
 Philip was going to accompany them, but his 
 aunt clung to him. 
 
 "Stay with us, Phil," she begged. "You are 
 my son, too." 
 
 Mr. Fabian, heavy-lidded from a sleepless 
 night, was working at the desk in his private 
 
 477
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 office, when the door opened and closed quietly 
 and quickly, and he looked up to see Edgar 
 standing beside him. An added cloud passed 
 over his face. 
 
 The young man saw it and he paid for many 
 a misdemeanor in the pang it gave him. 
 
 "Father, I Ve come to see if I can be of any 
 use," he said. 
 
 Mr. Fabian pushed his chair back and looked 
 up at his visitor, the deep line in his forehead 
 deeper. 
 
 " I know I have no experience, and little busi- 
 ness sense; but if you'll take the trouble to ex- 
 plain the situation to me, I '11 try to understand 
 as I've never before tried to do anything; and 
 I can at least carry out your instructions to the 
 letter." 
 
 Mr. Fabian continued to gaze up into the sun- 
 burned face and the eyes that regarded him 
 with steady purpose. 
 
 "I've lost a lot of money for you, my boy," 
 he said. "Quite a half of everything I pos- 
 sessed." 
 
 "And come out clean," returned the other 
 promptly. "Good for you." 
 
 Mr. Fabian kept silence, studying him for 
 another space. 
 
 478
 
 The Son 
 
 "My son," he said at last, slowly, as if to him- 
 self. "I have a son"; and he held out his hand. 
 
 Edgar clasped it in silence. Then he spoke 
 again. "I haven't had any breakfast, and of 
 course I could n't sleep; so my head is n't worth 
 much just now. Can you spare time to come 
 out and talk to me while I eat, or shall I go 
 alone?" 
 
 Mr. Fabian rose and his heavy eyes had 
 brightened. "Neither of us will go alone, after 
 this," he said.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 A TIDAL WAVE 
 
 MR. FABIAN'S firm stand resulted in a dissolu- 
 tion of his partnership, and very soon he was 
 able to repair with Edgar to the island. 
 
 The son had found the man-to-man relation- 
 ship with his father a strangely sweet one; and 
 by the time they reached the island so deeply 
 had his father's steadfastness and suffering 
 worked upon Edgar, he had no other plan than 
 that of rejuvenating the tired man's strained 
 nerves. Therefore, when Mr. Fabian reached 
 the heavenly calm of his hill cottage, he found 
 his wife and daughter ready to accompany him 
 on a cruise. Mrs. Fabian, lukewarm sailor 
 though she was, was as fully prepared as Kath- 
 leen; and with scarcely any delay they all 
 started out on the yacht. Mr. Fabian urged 
 Phil to join the party, but he could not leave 
 his work, and in any case would not add himself 
 to a family party at this time. He and Violet 
 stood on the shore and watched the white sails 
 swell as they caught the wind. 
 
 480
 
 A Tidal Wave 
 
 Edgar had been so absorbed in his father and 
 his plans that she had but a flying glimpse of 
 him after his return from New York; but it 
 flattered her to observe that he had left his 
 mustache in the metropolis. 
 
 Philip's assiduous work during the summer 
 resulted in finished pictures and numerous 
 sketches, all of which he carried back in the 
 autumn to the stable where Pat met him with 
 effusion. 
 
 "Sure 't is a red Injun ye are!" he exclaimed 
 at sight of his lodger's mahogany tints. 
 
 "Yes, and next summer, Pat, if I'm not a 
 pauper, you 're coming up there to get a red nose, 
 too," responded Phil. 
 
 The first step toward independence had been 
 made. He had finished the illustrations for 
 Kathleen's fairy tales, and but a few days after 
 his return, Mr. Tremaine came to the studio 
 to welcome him and show him the first copy of 
 the book; for it was October before Phil had con- 
 sented to leave his enthralling Villa, being finally 
 shooed out by Eliza who insisted that he either 
 come over to them and live in a Christian house, 
 or go back to his warm stable. 
 
 Phil was eager for news that Mr. Tremaine 
 could give him. 
 
 481
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "Aunt Isabel has written me very little," he 
 said. " I know they are settled in an apartment 
 near the park, but how are they all, and how 
 do they bear the change?" 
 
 " Wonderfully well," was the reply. " Mrs. 
 Fabian is the one to feel the pinch, of course. 
 Kathleen, not at all. She has too much resource 
 within herself to be dependent, and then there 
 are not a few people of influence who would find 
 a Van Ruysler if she hid herself on the East 
 Side." 
 
 It was true, Mrs. Fabian lived too much in 
 reflected glory to suffer loneliness, and as the 
 winter went on Kathleen drew her into artistic 
 circles where Philip's interests lay, and gradu- 
 ally she gained much pride and satisfaction in 
 the understanding of technical terms, and 
 learned not to discuss pictures. She even occa- 
 sionally felt some remorse in the remembrance 
 of Mrs. Ballard and was conscious of a wish that 
 she might have sympathized with her more. 
 
 The startling event in the family, however, 
 was provided by Edgar. The great Mazzini was 
 as good as his word, and Edgar Fabian started 
 in at once, on his return to New York, as a 
 teacher of the vocal art. Successful is too mild 
 a word to be applied to the young tenor. 
 482
 
 A Tidal Wave 
 
 Mazzini procured him opportunities to sing in 
 drawing-rooms where he had heretofore been 
 the entertained. He sent pupils to him, and they 
 advertised him con amore. Before the winter 
 was over he became a fad. He drew a good sal- 
 ary in a fashionable church. Other musicians 
 sneered at him as a poseur, and turned their 
 lunch tables into knockers' clubs to ease their 
 minds concerning the vagaries of this upstart. 
 
 Edgar, with his characteristic self-assurance 
 gave full play to the moods of which he had 
 spoken in the past to Violet. Perhaps he was not 
 blind to the fact that it was good advertising, 
 but in any case it was a temperamental fling 
 which gave him the utmost satisfaction. 
 
 He had different sets of hangings made, 
 divan covers, cushions, et cetera, easily removed 
 and placed in a box couch, so that his pupils 
 sometimes found a purple studio, sometimes a 
 crimson, sometimes one in luminous gold. None 
 knew beforehand in which mood the wonderful 
 young maestro would be found ; and they talked 
 of him with bated breath. 
 
 His sister took the liberty, early in his career, 
 
 of laughing at this ebullition of fancy, but she 
 
 soon found that Edgar took himself seriously, 
 
 and she repressed her smiles; for nothing suc- 
 
 483
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 ceeds like success; and Edgar Van Ruysler 
 Fabian was an idol whom it was not her place 
 to knock from his pedestal. 
 
 Violet Manning meanwhile was industriously 
 proceeding with her own teaching. As some of 
 it lay in fashionable schools, she heard echoes 
 of Edgar's popularity, and she and her house- 
 mates often attended the church where he sang. 
 He came to their apartment occasionally and 
 relaxed from the strain of living up to the ideal 
 of his admirers whom he terrorized grandly at 
 moments, after the most approved Mazzini 
 methods. 
 
 Once he had the three bachelor maids at a 
 chafing-dish supper at his studio. He was in a 
 red mood that night, and the crimson hang- 
 ings reminded Violet of the glowing heart which 
 always lay on her dressing-table. 
 
 The function was an informal and jolly one. 
 One of the men present was Edgar's accom- 
 panist, and he had played for Violet to dance. 
 It was a triumphant occasion for the girl. She 
 looked charming in a thin iridescent gown which 
 changed with the blues and greens of the sea 
 while she floated and pirouetted, as light and 
 tireless as thistledown. Edgar's eyes were 
 bright with pride in her and she was wildly 
 
 484
 
 A Tidal Wave 
 
 applauded, sharing the honors of the evening 
 with him. 
 
 Edgar sang the better for the inspiration of 
 her, and when at her request he began, "O 
 moon of my delight," she closed her eyes, shut- 
 ting out the gay company and the diffused rosy 
 light. Again she saw him stretched on the grass 
 in the silvery radiance of a still, still night. 
 
 "I think Mr. Fabian is in love with Violet," 
 said Regina afterward, privately, to Roxana. 
 
 "I think he is in love with himself," returned 
 Roxana; "and I take off my hat to Violet, for 
 I believe she knows it, too. I 'm afraid if I were 
 her age and he wanted me, I 'd marry him even 
 if I knew he'd beat me all the time he was n't 
 singing." 
 
 Her housemates noticed that Violet never 
 spoke of Edgar, and they drew their conclusions. 
 She had a sketch of his head done by Phil in an 
 idle moment, pinned up on her wall. That and 
 the bonbon box were the only evidences of the 
 acquaintance save those occasional calls with 
 which Edgar favored the apartment. The fact 
 that he came at all was important, for his en- 
 gagements were legion. 
 
 Philip carried himself much as he had done 
 the winter before. Through the Fabians and 
 
 485
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Mr. Tremaine he began to have invitations, but 
 he declined them. Mr. Tremaine bought the 
 painting of the wave which he had seen at the 
 island, and one of his friends bought another of 
 Phil's marines. 
 
 The artist kept on with his work in the life 
 class at the Academy. Edgar sometimes tried 
 to get him for a festivity at the studio, but, as 
 he told his sister in disgust, one might as well 
 try to get the Shah of Persia. 
 
 Every Sunday evening Phil spent at the Fa- 
 bians' but never since he had returned to town 
 had he made opportunity to resume a disturb- 
 ing intimacy with Kathleen. Her book was 
 having a fairly good sale, and the girl was at 
 work upon another. Their lives lay apart mainly 
 except on the Sunday evenings when Mr. Fa- 
 bian, once again adjusted to his business life, 
 claimed the guest far more than any of the 
 others. 
 
 Edgar, finding that the propinquity of Phil 
 and Violet during his absence in the summer 
 had not produced any results, altered his ex- 
 pectations of trouble from that quarter. He 
 made it a point to spend his Sunday evenings 
 with the family, in order, as his mother said, 
 to keep up the acquaintance ; and on one of these 
 
 486
 
 A Tidal Wave 
 
 evenings, toward spring, he brought Violet 
 Manning to supper. 
 
 The busy young teacher's friendship with 
 Kathleen had not progressed. The latter firmly 
 believed that any romantic notions which such 
 a girl might conceive for Edgar would bring 
 her to grief in the end ; and his present amazing 
 popularity but augmented that conviction; so 
 the girls had exchanged one call only during the 
 season. 
 
 Violet responded to Mrs. Fabian's invitation 
 for this Sunday and Edgar regarded her criti- 
 cally throughout the evening. 
 
 Never had he felt himself such authority on 
 girls as now. They crowded his studio. Fashion- 
 able girls, wealthy girls, pretty girls, plain girls, 
 clever ones, dull ones, aggressive, and shy girls; 
 and he had frequently detected himself com- 
 paring the more interesting with Violet. Her 
 spirit, her poise, her independence, her com- 
 pact, graceful, healthy body, always stood the 
 test. 
 
 As of old, to-night she seemed more interested 
 in Phil than in himself. Her spontaneous joy 
 over the news that during the past week he had 
 sold a third picture, actually roused again Ed- 
 gar's old train of thought. How did he know 
 487
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 what had occurred during the summer, between 
 the farmhouse and the Villa ? Were these two 
 only waiting, perhaps, until Phil began to find 
 a sale for his pictures? 
 
 Poor little Violet was not intriguing. She 
 found herself embarrassed in Edgar's family 
 circle, and she was defending herself in the only 
 way she knew. It seemed as if it must be legible 
 on her face that she out-adored the adoration 
 of all the singer's pupils; and it was a relief to 
 her when she and the object were at last in a 
 taxicab on the way home. The cover of the 
 darkness, and the sober return to thoughts of 
 to-morrow's duties, made her heave an inaudi- 
 ble sigh; but it is the unexpected that always 
 happens. 
 
 Edgar's teeth were tightly closed and every 
 street-lamp they passed showed him gazing at 
 his companion. 
 
 "I wonder," he said at last, --"I wonder, 
 Violet, why I Ve never been able to make you 
 like me better. Other other people like 
 
 me." 
 
 "Probably that's the reason," returned the 
 girl lightly. "Some one must help strike an 
 average." 
 
 She did not say it easily; for she was obliged
 
 A Tidal Wave 
 
 to swallow between sentences; but she said it 
 pretty well, and applauded herself. 
 
 "You see I love you, Violet," he went on, as 
 simply as the most non-temperamental swain 
 could have spoken. 
 
 She shrank into her corner, and when he tried 
 to take her hands she crossed them quickly 
 on her breast. 
 
 " Which mood is this ? " she asked, a tumultu- 
 ous beating under the crossed hands. 
 
 " You don't believe me," said Edgar quietly. 
 "It's true, Violet. I want you to marry me. 
 You Ve made me believe once or twice and 
 yet the next moment I always feel your utter 
 indifference. I'm afraid you're a flirt." 
 
 "I know you are!" responded the girl, her 
 fingers whitening against her fluttering heart. 
 "I'm afraid of you, Edgar." 
 
 Happiness leaped into his eyes and he gath- 
 ered her hands into his in spite of her. 
 
 "Have you ever seen 'The Concert'?" she 
 asked breathlessly. 
 
 "Oh, that's what you mean!" exclaimed 
 Edgar triumphantly. 
 
 "You should n't marry," said Violet. "You 
 are like a matinee idol. You will lose your capi- 
 tal when you marry, unless you are like that 
 
 489
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 selfish man. I warn you, I am not like that won- 
 derful wife. I could n't bear it." 
 
 "You've thought about it, then," said Edgar 
 joyously. 
 
 "Yes, oh, yes," replied Violet, her defences 
 down and tears welling through her half-closed 
 lids. "I'm sure I should be miserable." 
 
 "Then you love me." Edgar drew her out of 
 her corner into his arms. "Violet, I promise 
 you" 
 
 "Dear," she interrupted him, "I am just as 
 much afraid of myself as of you. No convention 
 would hold me. The minute I found you were 
 not honest with me that you concealed from 
 me I should go. You would look about, and 
 I should n't be there." 
 
 Edgar held her close in ecstatic possession. 
 
 "And that's why I'll be honest with you, 
 Violet. I swear it. If we're both honest, what 
 can" 
 
 The taxi-cab driver threw open the door. 
 
 Once again the daisy-snow drifted over the 
 hills on Brewster's Island; and Eliza sat in the 
 doorway of the Villa Chantecler watching Phil 
 adjust his possessions. 
 
 "When are the Fabians coming?" she asked. 
 490
 
 A Tidal Wave 
 
 "Next week." 
 
 "Are you and Miss Kathleen goin' to do 
 another book this year?" 
 
 "I hope so. She's going to let me see her 
 story when she comes. She has written her first 
 novel." 
 
 Eliza's eyes studied him sharply during a 
 silence. 
 
 "Is she engaged yet?" she asked. 
 
 "Not that I know of." 
 
 "I thought you two were pretty thick one 
 time there last summer." 
 
 "It's not for the likes o' me to be thick with 
 the likes o' her," replied Phil, busy setting up 
 an easel. 
 
 "I'd like to know why not," retorted Eliza, 
 who had read between the lines of Phil's letters 
 during the winter; and illustrated her imaginings 
 with looks and actions remembered from the 
 season before. "Think of the pictures you've 
 sold this winter. Look how quick you 've begun 
 your success. Has Kathleen many beaux?" 
 
 "She has worshippers," returned Phil, with 
 a slight smile; "and several of them come 
 much nearer to her than I can." 
 
 "You can if you want to," said Eliza bluntly; 
 "you're a great fool if you don't." 
 491
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Philip turned and looked at the speaker in 
 surprise. Her words were so exactly opposite 
 to the training he gave himself night and morn- 
 ing. 
 
 " T ain't as if her father was so rich any 
 more. Nobody could say you was after money, 
 and," Eliza's voice lost its hardness, "your 
 your Aunt Mary left me her ring you remem- 
 ber." 
 
 Phil smiled at her openly now, then he went 
 on with his work. 
 
 "You're a loyal soul, Eliza, and you always 
 yearn to give me everything I want; but Miss 
 Fabian will be married long before I 'm able to 
 ask any woman to trust herself to me." 
 
 Eliza gave him a fierce nod and drew down 
 the corners of her mouth. 
 
 "7 don't believe it!" she said, so sig- 
 nificantly that Phil flushed and looked at her 
 again. 
 
 "I've got eyes if you have n't," she added; 
 and with this Parthian shot she rose and went 
 back to the house. 
 
 Philip went on with his work, but the flush 
 stayed, and there was a line between his shining 
 eyes. 
 
 At this juncture Pat came up from the wharf 
 492
 
 A Tidal Wave 
 
 with a heavy package. The family had returned 
 to the house in Gramercy Park, and he and 
 Phil had vacated the stable this spring. 
 
 " Sure the Queen o' Sheby hersilf stepped off 
 the boat," he announced as he came into the 
 Villa. 
 
 "My Aunt come!" exclaimed Phil, turning 
 around quickly. " I wonder what changed their 
 plan. Was she alone?" 
 
 "She was not, thin," declared the Irishman 
 proudly. "D'ye think the Princess didn't 
 come straight up and hold out her pretty hand 
 with a smile swate enough to beckon the bees ? 
 1 How d 'ye do, Pat,' says she. ' 'T is fine ye 're to 
 be here this summer,' says she. 'We shall call 
 upon you for a lot o' help,' she says." 
 
 Philip stood still in indecision. No,he would n't 
 hurry over. They knew he was not expecting 
 the arrival; and he fell to business again. 
 
 The Irishman looked about him, on pictures 
 and sketches. 
 
 "Sure 't is a power o' work ye've done, me 
 bye," he said. "I feel I shud have on a bathin' 
 suit to look at 'em." 
 
 Eliza from her window saw Captain James 
 drive up to the boulder cottage and saw the 
 ladies dismount, and with them the maid of 
 
 493
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 all work with whom they intended this year to 
 live the simple life. Pat would be a valuable 
 auxiliary. 
 
 It was evening before Phil went across the 
 field to call. A brilliant planet showed a pale 
 wake of light across the water, forerunner of the 
 moon which was soon to rise. 
 
 " So serene, so soft, is she," thought Phil, in 
 whose head Eliza's words still rang, "and so 
 remote," he added. "So she shines on me, and 
 on all, alike. Eliza has n't seen the others, so 
 she thinks me selected"; and he pressed down 
 the stopper which a long time ago he fitted to 
 repress disturbing emotions ; for in the last hours 
 they had effervesced threateningly around its 
 rough edges. 
 
 Mrs. Fabian received him effusively and 
 Kathleen with the calm directness to which he 
 had adjusted himself. 
 
 "Your portrait comes off this summer, Aunt 
 Isabel," he said. 
 
 "I can't afford it, my dear," she answered. 
 
 Phil shook his head. "If I painted a portrait 
 of every Fabian on earth, would it pay my debt 
 to you?" he asked. "And anyway I have the 
 finest collection of Sidneys in the country; but 
 there is n't a portrait among them." 
 
 494
 
 A Tidal Wave 
 
 "Do yourself sometime, Phil, will you?" 
 suggested Kathleen. 
 
 "Yes, and you," he replied. "I want to do a 
 picture of you on my terrace. Pat and I have 
 brought up the bay to-day; and I want to begin 
 it immediately." 
 
 " I know," laughed Kathleen. "You want to 
 do both mother and me before our complexions 
 desert us." 
 
 " I '11 take you alternate days if you'll let me. 
 I 'd like you to-morrow, for my background is 
 just as I want it." He turned to Mrs. Fabian. 
 "Will you lend me your daughter to-morrow? 
 I have the finest of Irish terriers for a watch- 
 dog, you know." 
 
 Mrs. Fabian shrugged her shoulders. "I cer- 
 tainly shan't waste my time chaperoning you 
 two cousins at this late day," she answered. 
 
 On the afternoon following Eliza met Kath- 
 leen coming across the field. She looked at her 
 in surprise, for instead of khaki the girl was 
 wearing a filmy white gown whose length was 
 lifted from the clover and buttercups, and car- 
 ried over her arm. 
 
 Eliza looked admiringly at the lithe figure, 
 and the deep eyes that beamed kindly upon her. 
 
 "No wonder you are startled, Eliza; I am 
 495
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 going to sit for my portrait," she said, clasp- 
 ing Miss Brewster's hard hand. 
 
 "You look as if you was ready for your wed- 
 ding," returned Eliza. 
 
 " I should like it to be here if I ever have one," 
 said Kathleen ; and Eliza watched the rose-color 
 spread from the girl's cheek to her brow, while 
 the young eyes kept their steady, kind regard ; 
 then she inquired of Eliza as to the winter. 
 
 "I do believe she kind o' likes me for his 
 sake," thought Eliza, standing still to look 
 after the slender, graceful figure when Kathleen 
 moved on amid the daisies and clover. 
 
 "She's a flower herself. That's what she is, 
 and Mr. Philip did n't go as red as a beet for 
 nothin' when I spoke yesterday. He thinks 
 she's above him. There ain't anybody above 
 him!" 
 
 Whatever was the errand that had brought 
 Eliza into the field this afternoon she abandoned 
 it, and turned slowly back toward the farm- 
 house, glancing often at the Villa through whose 
 door the slender white figure had disappeared. 
 
 " I wish there was somethin' I could do to help 
 J em," she thought. "That pretty critter can't 
 do a thing against Mr. Philip's determination 
 if he's set out. I know him" 
 496
 
 A Tidal Wave 
 
 "Why was Kathleen so exquisite?" asked 
 Mrs. Wright as Eliza came in. 
 
 "Settin' for her portrait," answered Eliza 
 absently. " Said she was too dressed up to come 
 and see you, but would come to-morrow." 
 
 "She was a picture already, coming bare- 
 headed through that flowery field," said Mrs. 
 Wright. 
 
 Eliza did not respond. She disappeared into 
 her own room and closed the door. Then she 
 unlocked her trunk and took from its depths 
 a package which she untied, disclosing a fine 
 camel's-hair shawl. She unfolded it with loving 
 fingers, and regarded it. "A good enough wed- 
 din' present even for her," she muttered. 
 
 Then she reached into another corner and 
 took out a tin box which she unlocked and drew 
 forth a tiny velvet case, rubbed and worn. 
 When she opened this, tears rushed to her eyes 
 and she lifted it to her lips. "Nothin 5 could 
 make you so happy, my dear one," she mur- 
 mured brokenly. " Nothin' ! Nothin' ! " 
 
 Half an hour later Eliza entered the Villa. 
 Pat was doing some scraping of palette knives 
 in the kitchen. She looked timidly out on the 
 terrace. A lovely living picture met her eyes. 
 
 497
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 Kathleen was sitting on the white railing, her 
 filmy gown falling in folds at her feet. Behind 
 her rose the bay-crowned pillar casting shadows 
 on the red-glints of her hair. 
 
 " Mr. Philip, please excuse me," said Eliza 
 humbly; "but could you spare Pat to go on an 
 errand for us?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," replied Phil absently, working 
 at a white heat. 
 
 Eliza withdrew with quiet celerity. The er- 
 rand she required was to be performed at a dis- 
 tance, and she was so nervous while she gave 
 Pat directions that he grinned at her. 
 
 "Ye 're thinkin' about thim /" he said, jerking 
 his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of 
 the terrace. 
 
 Eliza's eyes widened. "Why in the world 
 should I think about them?" she asked, all the 
 time tolling Pat away toward the farmhouse. 
 
 "I cud look at 'em from now till Christmas 
 sittin' there," he responded. "I don't blame 
 ye." 
 
 "I have n't asked you about the turtle 
 doves," said Phil, sketching in Kathleen's 
 hands. 
 
 "They believe themselves the happiest people 
 498
 
 A Tidal Wave 
 
 in the world, and perhaps they are. Violet has 
 
 really convinced me that she is the right girl for 
 
 Edgar. A meek one would have little chance." 
 
 "They're coming up here, I suppose." 
 
 "Oh, yes. Edgar can't get his vacation from 
 
 the church quite yet, and she'll not come till he 
 
 can.' ! 
 
 "Of course not," replied Phil simply. "How 
 can one voluntarily live without the other a day 
 after the great discovery is made?" 
 
 Kathleen made no answer to this. The lump 
 that rose in her throat was rebellious ; and the 
 artist, looking up suddenly, met fire in the 
 depths of her dark eyes. The lids dropped. His 
 hand grew suddenly unsteady. 
 
 : 'Tell me when you're tired, Kathleen," he 
 said. "We have the summer." He smiled as he 
 spoke; but it was a rigid sort of smile. 
 
 The field sown thickly with the late wild- 
 flowers of the island, and stretching to a spark- 
 ling sea, the rustling orchard leaves, and the 
 crown of bay behind the queenly young head, 
 the soft white figure with the loosely dropped 
 hands ! It was no time or place for Kathleen to 
 look at him like that. 
 
 " I 'm tired now, I believe," she said, quietly. 
 " Will it be enough for to-day?" 
 499
 
 The Inner Flame 
 
 "At least until you're rested. Come in 
 and let me show you a sketch I did yester- 
 day." 
 
 She rose and lifted her white shoulders with 
 a movement of weariness, then they moved in- 
 side the room. 
 
 A vase of daisies stood on the table. " I be- 
 lieve," said Phil, "I should have asked you to 
 wear daisies in your hair." 
 
 They were standing by the table and he took 
 three of the long stems and breaking them to 
 convenient length made a movement toward 
 her head. Then he shrank. "Put them in, will 
 you?" he asked. 
 
 The least smile touched her lips, and her 
 hands hung down. 
 
 "You know best what you want," she replied 
 and inclined her regal head toward him. 
 
 The golden radiance streamed through the 
 small-paned windows and reddened her hair. 
 
 Phil's fingers trembled as they tucked the 
 flower stems under the soft folds. He dropped 
 his eyes from the lustrous tints, and they caught 
 a sudden elusive spark of violet, then green that 
 shone on the table. He looked closer, and 
 pointed. 
 
 "Did you leave your ring there?" he asked. 
 500
 
 A Tidal Wave 
 
 Kathleen looked. A diamond ring was shining 
 beneath the tall candlestick. 
 She shook her daisy-crowned head. 
 "It's not mine," she said, wondering. "I 
 
 never saw it.' 
 
 "Nor I." Phil's breath came faster. "This is 
 an enchanted place, Kathleen. The very spirit 
 of the sea must have pitied me in my struggle 
 and brought this ring." The ring! He looked 
 at it, dazed for another moment, then like a 
 flash he remembered Eliza's interruption, and 
 his illumined eyes met Kathleen's, grave and 
 wondering. 
 
 " I adore you, my darling. I give up the fight." 
 He kept his eyes on hers as he picked up the 
 quaint little jewel and pressed it to his lips. 
 
 Kathleen smiled at him, then her eyes veiled 
 and dropped. 
 
 He lifted her hand and slowly put the ring on 
 her finger; for the inner sanctuary of her heart 
 had flown open, and he had seen within. 
 
 Quickly he clasped her close in his arms. She 
 clung to him, and the golden radiance enve- 
 loped them. 
 
 THE END
 
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 text pages, printed in two colors. Illustrations by Alice 
 Barber Stephens. 
 
 One of the prettiest romances that has ever come from this 
 author's pen is made to bloom on Christmas Eve in the sweet 
 freshness of an old New England meeting house. 
 
 PENELOPE'S PROGRESS. Attractive cover design hi 
 colors. 
 
 Scotland is the background for the merry doings of three very 
 clever and original American girls. Their adventures in adjusting 
 themselves to the Scot and his land are full of humor. 
 
 PENELOPE'S IRISH EXPERIENCES. Uniform in style 
 with "Penelope's Progress." 
 
 The trio of clever girls who rambled over Scotland cross the bor- 
 der to the Emerald Isle, and again they sharpen their wits against 
 new conditions, and revel in the land of laughter and wit. 
 
 REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM. 
 
 One of the most beautiful studies of childhood Rebecca's artis- 
 tic, unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand cut midst a circle 
 of austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phe- 
 nomenal dramatic record. 
 
 NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA. With illustrations 
 by F. C. Yohn. 
 
 Some more quaintly amusing chronicles that carry Rebecca 
 through various stages to her eighteenth birthday. 
 
 ROSE O' THE RIVER. With illustrations by George 
 Wright 
 
 The simple story of Rose, a country girl and Stephen a sturdy 
 young farmer, The girl's fancy for a city man interrupts their love 
 and merges the story into an emotional strain where the reader fol- 
 lows the events with rapt attention. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
 
 THE NOVELS OF 
 
 CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM 
 
 May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. 
 
 JEWEL: A Chapter in Her Life. 
 Illustrated by Maude and Genevieve Cowles. 
 
 A sweet, dainty story, breathing the doctrine of love and patience 
 and sweet nature and cheerfulness. 
 
 JEWEL'S STORY BOOK. 
 Illustrated by Albert Schmitt. 
 
 A sequel to "Jewel" and equally enjoyable. 
 CLEVER BETSY. 
 Illustrated by Rose O'Neill. 
 
 The "Clever Betsy" was a boat named for the unyielding spin- 
 ster whom the captain hoped to marry. Through the two Betsys a 
 clever group of people are introduced to the reader. 
 
 SWEET CLOVER: A Romance of the White City. 
 
 A story of Chicago at the time of the World's Fair. A sweet hu- 
 man story that touches the heart. 
 
 THE OPENED SHUTTERS. 
 Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher. 
 
 A summer haunt on an island in Casco Bay is the background 
 for this romance. A beautiful woman, at discord with life, is brought 
 to realize, by her new friends, that she may open the shutters of her 
 soul to the blessed sunlight of joy by casting aside vanity and self 
 love. A delicately humorous work with a lofty motive underlying it all. 
 
 THE RIGHT PRINCESS. 
 
 An amusing story, opening at a fashionable Long Island resort, 
 where a stately Englishwoman employs a forcible New England 
 housekeeper to serve in her interesting home. How types so widely 
 apart react on each other's lives, all to ultimate good, makes a story 
 both humorous and rich in sentiment. 
 
 THE LEAVEN OF LOVE. 
 Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher. 
 
 At a Southern California resort a world-weary woman, young and 
 beautiful but disillusioned, meets a girl who has learned the art of 
 living of tasting life in all its richness, opulence and joy. The story 
 hinges upon the change wrought in the soul of the blase woman by 
 this glimpse into a cheery life. 
 
 Aalt for compete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST. , NEW YORK
 
 TITLES SELECTED FROM 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAPS LIST 
 
 May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list 
 
 THE SIEGE OF THE SEVEN SUITORS. By Meredith Nich- 
 olson. Illustrated by C. Coles Phillips and Reginald Birch. 
 
 Seven suitors vie with each other for the love of a beautiful 
 girl, and she subjects them to a test that is fnll of mystery, magic 
 and sheer amusement. 
 
 THE MAGNET. By Henry C. Rowland. Illustrated by Clarence 
 F. Underwood. 
 
 The story of a remarkable courtship involving three pretty 
 girls on a yacht, a poet -lover in pursuit, and a mix-up in the names 
 of the girls. 
 
 THE TURN OF THE ROAD. By Eugenia Brooks Frothingham. 
 A beautiful young opera singer chooses professional success 
 instead of love, but comes to a place in life where the call of the 
 heart is stronger than worldly success. 
 
 SCOTTIE AND HIS LADY. By Margaret Morse. Illustrated 
 by Harold M. Brett. 
 
 A young girl whose affections have been blighted is presented 
 with a Scotch Collie to divert her mind, and the roving adventures 
 of her pet lead the young mistress into another romance. 
 
 SHEILA VEDDER, By Amelia E. Barr. Frontispiece by Harri- 
 son Fisher. 
 
 A very beautiful romance of the Shetland Islands, with a 
 handsome, strong willed hero and a lovely girl of Gaelic blood as 
 heroine. A sequel to "Jan Vedder's Wife." 
 
 JOHN WARD. PREACHER. By Margaret Deland. 
 
 The first big success of this much loved American novelist. 
 It is a powerful portrayal of a young clergyman's attempt to win his 
 beautiful wife to his own narrow creed. 
 
 THE TRAIL OF NINETY-EIGHT. By Robert W. Service. 
 Illustrated by Maynard Dixon. 
 
 One of the best stories of "Vagabondia " ever written, and 
 one of the most accurate and picturesque of the stampede of gold 
 seekers to the Yukon. The love story embedded in the narrative 
 is strikingly original, 
 
 Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST. , NEW YORK
 
 A 000108469 8