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 HOUSE 
 
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 OPEN HOUSE
 
 
 
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 CASSANDRA
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 BY 
 
 JULIET WILBOR TOMPKINS 
 
 Author of DR. ELLEN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 Copyright, 1909, fry 
 THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY 
 
 First edition, January, 1909 
 Second edition, March, 1909
 
 OPEN HOUSE
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 STORIES are usually told from the standpoint 
 of some one person; you are shown the events 
 as the hero saw them, or the maiden aunt, or the 
 god from the car. The greater part of this story 
 has to be told from the standpoint of the great 
 central living-room of Dr. Caspar Diman's vast, 
 old-fashioned mansion, for it was there that nearly 
 everything happened. The house with its three 
 acres of sweet, untidy garden had come to him 
 through his wife her one appreciable contribu- 
 tion to his life, unless a measure of his growth in 
 the way of patience, forbearance and loving-kind- 
 ness be put down to the credit of the shallow, 
 peevish spirit that called them forth. She might 
 have made a saint of him in time, but, fortunately, 
 she had been taken away after three years, leaving 
 her husband still possessed of a few energetic 
 failings, such as a somewhat arbitrary fashion of 
 making decisions, and a suicidal carelessness 
 about money. 
 
 The house, built in the mansard roof and black 
 walnut period, showed few marks of that reign
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 of banality except for the vastness of its rooms; 
 any one of these might have comfortably enclosed 
 an ordinary modern cottage, while the central 
 living-room could have swallowed a boarding- 
 house with ease. At a time when all fashionable 
 front doors opened on a strip of hall with folding 
 doors leading right and left into square parlours, 
 someone had conceived a front door opening 
 widely from the garden into a great oblong apart- 
 ment the hall and the two parlours in one. 
 Entering, one faced the massive stairway that 
 rose in a dignified curve against the opposite wall, 
 leaving room at one end for a door leading to 
 the passage connecting dining-room and kitchen, 
 and at the other for glass doors opening on the 
 verandah. Patients came in this way, and sat 
 uneasily on the benches placed just inside, trying 
 to seem unconscious of one another and folding 
 their lips into lines of awkward solemnity when 
 their sidelong glances met. A fireplace and 
 bookcases occupied the right-hand wall, while 
 the left, an amazing distance away, was largely 
 taken up by folding doors that opened into the 
 doctor's office. The inlaid floor, made of the 
 narrowest possible boards, alternately light and 
 dark, had pushed up here and there into tiny 
 hillocks with age, and the plumpness of the leather 
 cushions and chairs was slowly oozing away
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 through their broken corners; yet it was a pleasant 
 and even a distinguished shabbiness that per- 
 vaded, a shabbiness that could dignify various 
 tight bouquets of mingled geraniums and nastur- 
 tiums that must have set the teeth on edge in a 
 smaller atmosphere, and lend a sort of grand- 
 motherly grace to the vast hangings of dull maroon 
 rep, that still showed a line of crimson under the 
 fringe. 
 
 Streaming sunlight gave an air of peace and 
 serenity that Dr. Diman's entrance from his 
 office did not dispel. He had five engagements 
 to keep in the next two hours, but no one would 
 have supposed that he had anything more impor- 
 tant on hand than the fastening in his buttonhole 
 of a small red rose from the trellis by the window. 
 Years before, in the brief period when he had 
 worn a flower because his wife picked it for him, 
 a very sick woman had said : 
 
 "Your rose always makes me feel that, after all, 
 there is some hope and comfort and pleasantness 
 in the world. It does me good every time you 
 come." 
 
 He had remembered it, as he remembered every- 
 thing, little or big, that had human significance, 
 and ever after, in season and out, had managed 
 to wear the small emblem of cheerfulness on his 
 coat. It was usually a carelessly shabby coat. 
 
 3
 
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 Dr. Diman was not yet forty, and the vigour of 
 youth still straightened his shoulders and empha- 
 sized his step; but it was ten years since he had 
 begun to forget that trousers should be creased 
 and boots kept on boot-trees, that eye-glasses have 
 more distinction than spectacles, and that a hat 
 which has met the storms of three winters may 
 lack something to the critical eye. Yet his shab- 
 biness was, like that of his house, touched with 
 distinction. People were fond of telling him 
 that he looked like General Grant, a fact that 
 interested him not at all, though his short brown 
 beard might have seemed intended to emphasize 
 the resemblance. He was curiously lacking in the 
 typical marks of his years. Side by side with 
 the grown man could still be seen the honest, 
 affectionate little boy from whom he had started, 
 while already, on the other side, was foreshadowed 
 the wise and benignant old man in whom he 
 should end; and these two presences seemed 
 sometimes to meet in him, blurring his right to 
 any momentary position on the scale that runs up 
 to threescore and ten, and putting him on a level 
 with all ages. There were people as a rule, not 
 well known to him personally who called him 
 a crank. It is only fair to add that his sister Myr- 
 tle, who had kept his house ever since his wife's 
 death, eleven years before, took the same view. 
 
 4
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 She came in as he was settling his rose, headed 
 anxiously for the kitchen. Miss Myrtle's house- 
 keeping expression was ever that of one who has 
 just heard a distant crash of china, or who smells 
 something burning. She moved as hurriedly as 
 her weight permitted, but it could be seen that her 
 soul went ahead, and was already at the kitchen 
 door with some life and death message for the 
 ice man or the grocer. 
 
 "Oh, Myrtle!" Her brother accosted her 
 casually, though a half smile lurked behind his 
 spectacles. "We are not using the big southeast 
 bed-room, are we?" 
 
 She stopped as though struck, and the dropping 
 of her stout arms at her sides showed that no 
 casual tone could hoodwink her. 
 
 "Caspar! 7s it another nervous prostrate?" 
 she cried. 
 
 "No." He was obviously a little sorry, but not 
 at all afraid of her. 
 
 "An inebriate or a morphine fiend?" 
 
 "Neither." 
 
 "Not St. Vitus's dance again?" Her tone in- 
 timated that, if it were, she should simply die, 
 and he took pity on her. 
 
 "No: this time it is a handsome and entirely 
 healthy young woman." 
 
 She knew him too well to accept comfort. "It 
 5
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 is another case, just the same you needn't tell 
 me! Why you have to bring home every stray 
 cat and lame dog you come across ! What is 
 she, anyway?" 
 
 He looked at his watch. "I haven't time to 
 tell you, now. She will act as my office assistant 
 and take charge of the telephone that will be a 
 relief to you, won't it?" His tone encouraged a 
 glimmer of cheer, but she only sighed. "She will 
 be here late this afternoon, and her name is Cas- 
 sandra Joyce," he added as he went out. 
 
 Cassandra Joyce! Miss Myrtle needed no 
 more telling. That was, of course, the cousin 
 who had come from Paris to live with Miss Emily 
 Joyce, a week before her sudden death. Caspar, 
 who had been called in consultation, had spoken 
 pityingly of the girl at the time his sister might 
 have foreseen what was coming! Cassandra 
 Joyce, daughter of a multi-millionaire whose 
 fortunes had fallen with a reverberating crash 
 three years ago, and who had taken a short cut 
 out of difficulty and disgrace with a bullet; a girl 
 brought up to every luxury and, no doubt, straight 
 from the home of some rich friend, coming here to 
 go through the farce of earning her living this 
 was a little too much. Her important errand to 
 the kitchen forgotten, Miss Myrtle still sat where 
 she had dropped, gloomily facing the situation. 
 
 6
 
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 It was never a simple situation for the house- 
 keeper in the spreading, old-fashioned mansion 
 which Dr. Diman called his home, but which in 
 his sister's opinion might more fittingly be called 
 a combination of Rescue League, Snug Harbour, 
 Sanitorium, and Sheltering Arms. She had kept 
 house for him eleven years, and every year, in 
 her phraseology, "he got worse." She could not 
 accept him as incurable, and the average man 
 must have grown propitiatory or irritable after 
 eleven years of her poignant dismay; but Caspar 
 smiled at her protests, offered up no argument, 
 and went his chosen way without so much as an 
 extra crease in his forehead on her account. At 
 this moment a superannuated French chef, who 
 had kept his pathetically charming manners, but 
 lost large tracts of his memory, was presiding in 
 the kitchen with the exquisite humility of a fallen 
 monarch; and what comfort was it to know that 
 the puree might be perfect, when one knew also 
 that it might come in with its main ingredient 
 forgotten? Though a teacher has had remark- 
 able success with children, it does not necessarily 
 follow that, after a physical breakdown, she is 
 entirely successful in light housework; even now 
 the trail of Ann Blossom's willing but vague duster 
 could be seen in a broad sweep across the grey 
 film on the centre table. A professor of botany, 
 
 7
 
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 whose eyes need a year's rest, may have a minute 
 knowledge of a garden's needs, but does that 
 keep him from leaving the hose running all night 
 or dropping cakes of loam from his heels every 
 time he enters the house? Add to this hybrid 
 domestic staff a wealthy forlornity who thought 
 she paid for what she was getting, and the pros- 
 pect of a helpless spoiled girl to be looked after - 
 
 "Well, if it wasn't for Hattie, I'd give up," 
 concluded Miss Myrtle heavily. Hattie was bel- 
 ligerently able-bodied and she came for wages, 
 nothing else. "Deliver me from gratitude ser- 
 vice!" was the final sum of the housekeeper's 
 experience. 
 
 There was great excitement in the household 
 when it was known that the daughter of Sidney 
 L. Joyce was coming there as a paid assistant. 
 Ann Blossom, hearing of it from Hattie, set down 
 her dustpan at the head of the stairs (where its 
 contents were presently blown in four directions 
 by the breeze from Miss Myrtle's skirt) and flew 
 down to tell Ernest Cunningham, who was tacking 
 up a clematis vine outside one of the living-room 
 windows. He took off his black glasses, as he 
 usually did when Ann came running with news, 
 and dropped down on the top of the ladder with an 
 air of tranquil satisfaction. Ernest never knew 
 who anyone was, and had to be told the story of 
 
 8
 
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 Sidney L. Joyce's wealth and downfall as set 
 forth in Hattie's version before he could fully 
 savour the news. Ann, with her palms on the 
 window-ledge, balanced on her stiffened arms, 
 stood with her head between the vines. She had 
 a thin, sweet face, with wide, unworldly grey 
 eyes that might have been those of a martyr for 
 a high cause if they had not always shone so inno- 
 cently with happiness. There was some indefin- 
 able similarity between her and the long, pale, 
 brown-haired young man watching her so con- 
 tentedly from the ladder. One felt that they 
 belonged to the same phase of spiritual sensitive- 
 ness and worldly inexperience. 
 
 "Just think, a millionaire's daughter earning 
 her own bread and butter," Ann marvelled. 
 "Isn't it romantic?" 
 
 "Now, just what do you mean by romantic?" 
 And Ernest clasped his fingers about one thin 
 knee with an air of settling down to solid enjoy- 
 ment. Ann refused the challenge with a little 
 backward shake of her head, as though she liter- 
 ally tossed it off. 
 
 "Don't I won't!" she laughed. "It is ro- 
 mantic, and you know it. Think of having lived 
 like a princess till you were grown up, and then 
 all at once becoming Cinderella!" 
 
 "Exceedingly hard lines, I should say." 
 9
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Oh, it is, it is! I am so sorry but one can't 
 help being interested, too, can one?" The fear 
 that she had seemed heartless strained her face 
 until she saw that he was smiling at her. 
 
 "You needn't explain, Ann Blossom. I under- 
 stand," he said, cutting one of the doctor's little 
 red roses and laying it on the window-ledge be- 
 side her hand. "We must do what we can to 
 make it easier for your Cinderella. Is she good 
 looking?" 
 
 "Oh, of course; beautiful. She would have to 
 be. Wouldn't it be lovely if some charming rich 
 man came here to be treated, and he fell in love 
 with her!" Ann's eyes were shining at the pros- 
 pect. Ernest passed a thoughtful hand over his 
 smooth brown hair. 
 
 "I don't suppose a professor of botany's salary 
 would quite do," he suggested. Her transparent 
 face showed a momentary blankness; then she 
 laughed, rather breathlessly. 
 
 "Why, it might," she said cheerfully, turning 
 away. "Yes, I don't see why not. Now, I must 
 go and finish my work." 
 
 "You are forgetting your rose," he called after 
 her through the window. She was at the foot of 
 the stairs and she did not turn back. 
 
 "Oh, I haven't time for roses now," she said 
 lightly. He leaned in, his elbows on the sill. 
 
 10
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Ann Blossom, please come and get your rose," 
 he begged humbly, holding it out. She just 
 glanced back over her shoulder. 
 
 "Keep it for Cinderella," she said, and ran 
 up- stairs; but her face was bright again. The 
 emptied state of her dustpan puzzled her until 
 she looked at the surrounding floor. Then she 
 laughed. 
 
 "You are a bad little dustpan, not to take 
 better care of your dust," she said indulgently. 
 "Ann won't trust you another time." And she 
 blithely fell to sweeping again. 
 
 Even in the kitchen the news of Miss Joyce's 
 coming produced a sensation. When Dr. Diman, 
 returning at noon, dropped down in the living- 
 room to look over his letters, a lean and stooping 
 figure in a chef's white coat and cap, gleamingly 
 fresh for the occasion, appeared in the doorway, one 
 hand crushing the other against his bowed chest in 
 the extremities of apology as a faint cough craved 
 attention. The doctor's smile was affectionate. 
 
 "Come in, Ronsard. What is it?" 
 
 Ronsard's cap was lifted from his dignified 
 white locks. "If monsieur le docteur will permit 
 me, I come to make a request." 
 
 "Fire ahead!" 
 
 "I thank you. I am told that a young lady 
 comes to the house to stay Mile. Joyce. It is 
 
 ii
 
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 a great event to me, monsieur. I was chef in her 
 father's house for five years. Ah, he was a very 
 grand gentleman! 'Ronsard,' he would say to 
 me, 'there is not a chef in New York who can 
 cook a bird as you can!' I do not know why he 
 should think that;" Ronsard smiled deprecation, 
 a bony brown hand curved modestly over his 
 white moustaches; "I merely did as I knew how 
 my little talent was very humble. When the 
 guests would say, 'Mr. Joyce, there is no cook 
 like your Ronsard,' I had to think it was their 
 kindness. I could not explain it otherwise." 
 
 Dr. Diman smiled encouragement, though 
 vaguely, half his attention being drawn away by 
 the letter in his hand. "Yes, indeed," he mur- 
 mured. 
 
 "A very great sorrow befell me and I went away 
 while mademoiselle was still a little girl, but she 
 will not have forgotten Ronsard;" the old chef 
 straightened as though he saluted his glorious 
 past. "I come now to my request. Will mon- 
 sieur le docteur permit that I serve the dinner 
 with some slight additions in honour of Mile. 
 Joyce?" 
 
 "Why, of course: excellent idea! Do your best 
 for her." 
 
 Ronsard bent his head with a noble sweep of the 
 cap he held. 
 
 12
 
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 "I thank monsieur!" Then, as Miss Myrtle's 
 step sounded in the hall above, his grandiloquence 
 abruptly collapsed, and he backed hurriedly into 
 the doorway. "The materials will be but slight. 
 If the docteur would perhaps say to mademoiselle 
 his sister that he has given permission ?" he 
 ventured softly. 
 
 "Yes, I will speak of it. It will be all right, 
 Ronsard," the doctor promised. His eyes looked 
 sorry, which was perhaps the most endearing of 
 all their many warm expressions. They often 
 carried that look when one of amusement might 
 have been expected. 
 
 He told Myrtle at once, causing her to stop 
 blankly on the stairs with dropping arms. 
 
 "Caspar, I think that is perfectly crazy, to 
 start her off with a dinner party," she lamented. 
 "The girl will think she is here simply as a guest." 
 
 "Oh, come off, Myrtle," was the good-humoured 
 response. 
 
 "The question is, will she come off? Or will 
 she stay up in the air while I do her work?" She 
 came slowly down, a step at a time. "If you had 
 to do the housekeeping for a w r eek, Caspar, you 
 would understand. What with Miss Snell burst- 
 ing into tears whenever the toast comes in but- 
 tered, and dashing off to lie down between every 
 course, and Ann Blossom forgetting to come to
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 meals and losing everything she lays hands on, 
 and Mr. Cunningham 
 
 "I know, Myrtle. I fully appreciate it. And 
 if you find that it is getting too much for your 
 nerves - 
 
 The last word had a magical effect. Miss 
 Myrtle stiffened and straightened: her plaintive 
 voice took on an unexpected force. 
 
 "Nerves! I have asked you, Caspar, never to 
 use that word in connection with me. I am a 
 perfectly healthy woman, and I have no nerves." 
 She seemed to be addressing some unseen audience. 
 "I can eat what is set before me, and I can sleep 
 even if there is a wrinkle in my sheet, or a dog 
 two miles off takes to barking. I don't know 
 what a nerve is." And she passed on towards 
 the garden with head indignantly erect. Her 
 brother's expression was covertly wicked as he 
 returned to his letters. 
 
 At four o'clock three trunks arrived, and were 
 taken up to the big southeast chamber at the head 
 of the stairs. It was the most desirable bed-room 
 in the house, and had been Dr. Diman's until he 
 had given it up to a case of incipient melancholia 
 that he had brought home one autumn, five years 
 before. The patient had gone away in the spring 
 well, and Caspar had credited over half the vic- 
 tory to the sunlight that poured through the 
 
 14
 
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 leafless chestnuts by day, and the evening blaze 
 of logs on the generous hearth. So he had kept 
 the room for his cases ever since, much to Miss 
 Myrtle's disapproval. The three trunks made 
 no more impression on it than so many footstools. 
 At half past four they were followed by a box, 
 obviously containing an offering of flowers. At 
 five Miss Emily Joyce's carriage made what was 
 perhaps its last trip of state, and the doctor threw 
 back the door to Miss Cassandra Joyce. 
 
 Cinderella was beautiful, as Ann Blossom had 
 declared she must be; more beautiful, perhaps, at 
 first glance than at second or third, when one 
 had had time to resist the imperious assurance of 
 her bearing, collect one's scattered faculties and 
 venture on an independent judgment. Yet per- 
 haps it was scarcely worth while to be critical of a 
 young woman who was so obviously indifferent to 
 what others might be thinking. The good side 
 of such indifference is practical efficiency, the bad 
 side insolence: both qualities were to be discerned 
 in the poise of Miss Joyce's head, her straight 
 glance, and the rather too straight line of her lips. 
 
 She greeted her employer with the careless 
 friendliness of a well-disposed sovereign, and, 
 dropping into the largest chair, gave him a rapid 
 commentary on the badness of American roads 
 and the banality of American life. Caspar, who
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 had no social fluency, stood silent and wholly at 
 his ease, smiling down on her with the air of one 
 who waits for inevitable preliminaries to be dis- 
 posed of. His attitude presently had its effect, 
 for, pulling off her long gloves, she spread her 
 jewelled fingers to cool them and asked with a 
 sigh of impatience: 
 
 "Now, what is it that I am supposed to do?" 
 
 He welcomed the topic by drawing up a chair. 
 "Do you know what the duties of a doctor's 
 assistant are?" he began. 
 
 "I do not." 
 
 "Well, then, neither do I, so we start even." 
 She had to grant him a brief smile, his good-will 
 was so genuine. 
 
 "You said something about a telephone," she 
 reminded him. 
 
 "Yes, and that is important." He became 
 business-like at once, seeing that she would prefer 
 it. "If you will always answer it, and be careful 
 about messages, you will make my sister's lot 
 very much easier. And I need someone to be 
 here at office hours; patients are nervous critters 
 and a sensible woman could make things much 
 easier for them. I have got one staying in the 
 house here, Miss Snell, a very complex case 
 of neurasthenia." Warming to his subject, he 
 quite forgot to watch his new assistant's face. 
 
 16
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "She needs bright, wholesome companionship 
 more than anything else. You can be of great 
 service - 
 
 He was interrupted by a sudden gasp of laughter; 
 Miss Joyce had dropped her face into her hands. 
 Caspar's eyes softened to their very sorriest look. 
 He rose and stood beside her, offering his human 
 nearness for lack of any other comfort. 
 
 "I know; it must be mighty queer to you." 
 His voice was as warm as his eyes. "I am 
 glad you have the courage to laugh instead of 
 cry." 
 
 "I beg your pardon." She lifted her head 
 with a frown for his sympathy. "It is really 
 rather novel, that is all. No one has ever ex- 
 pected me to be useful, you see." 
 
 "But these last three years?" he asked with 
 hesitation, returning to his chair. "I understood 
 that you were left - 
 
 "With nothing whatever," was the prompt 
 answer. "But I have been living with a friend 
 in Paris, and she gave me everything." 
 
 His eyes fell. "Was that wholly satisfac- 
 tory?" he asked. 
 
 "What could I do? I have no near relatives. 
 Louisa isn't anybody, socially, so it was worth 
 her while to have me she is very rich. I should 
 have stayed with her indefinitely if she had not
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 chosen to marry again a most impossible little 
 person. I could not stand that." 
 
 "And so you came to America?" 
 
 "Unfortunately, yes. Cousin Emily Joyce had 
 very reluctantly offered me a home, so I even 
 more reluctantly accepted it. And the week 
 after I arrived, she died which was exactly 
 like Cousin Emily. If it had not been for you - 
 well, really, I don't just know what I should be 
 doing now." She studied him with imperious 
 curiosity. "Do you tow home all the derelicts 
 you come across? For you can't really suppose 
 that I am of any practical use, can you?" 
 
 "I think that you can learn to be," was the 
 emphatic answer. "And I think helping you to 
 learn that quite as important as curing you of a 
 bodily disease would be. Besides, I do very 
 much need someone with a head who can answer 
 letters for me and write up case records from my 
 notes. Oh, you will earn your salary, I assure 
 you." 
 
 "My salary!" she repeated with a short laugh. 
 "Thirty dollars a month I don't believe I ever 
 had a hat that cost less than thirty dollars. How- 
 ever - 
 
 Hattie's voice interrupted from the doorway, 
 where she had planted herself with unembar- 
 rassed singleness of purpose. 
 
 18
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "That Frenchman's lost the salt pork," she 
 announced baldly. "He had it, and now 'tis 
 gone. Will he go out for some more, he says." 
 
 Dr. Diman looked puzzled. "Hadn't you 
 better see my sister about it?" he suggested. 
 
 "Ah, no! Ah, monsieur, a thousand pardons!" 
 Ronsard came fluttering down the passage, his 
 arms extended in despairing apology. "It was 
 but mislaid for a moment I have found it. 
 Monsieur should not have to hear of such things. 
 I am an old man I forget. I beg - 
 
 "Ronsard!" Miss Joyce had started from her 
 chair. "Surely it is Ronsard, our Ronsard!" she 
 exclaimed, going rapidly towards him with ex- 
 tended hands, her face amazingly lighted. 
 
 "Ah, mademoiselle!" He bent until his white 
 locks nearly touched the hands resting so warmly 
 on his. "I said in my vanity, 'Mademoiselle will 
 not have forgotten old Ronsard.' And see, it is 
 true!" There were tears in his eyes. 
 
 "You are here, living here?" she said gladly, 
 and Caspar saw for the first time that she was 
 beautiful: he had thought her merely handsome, 
 before. He watched her intently as she ques- 
 tioned the old man in animated French and told 
 him frankly of herself. 
 
 "You must talk with me often, and I shall 
 feel that I am not wholly alone in a strange 
 
 19
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 place," she said finally, giving him her hands 
 again. 
 
 "Ah, it is a great honour that mademoiselle still 
 has room in her heart for old Ronsard, even 
 though she finds him in quest of the salt pork," 
 he added with rueful humour. 
 
 Her laugh was quick and warm. "I am glad 
 you found it," she said, returning to her chair. 
 "That was a pleasant surprise," she added, looking 
 at Caspar with more friendliness than she had yet 
 shown. 
 
 "I am so glad! And I think there is another 
 in your room. I saw what looked like a very 
 gorgeous box of flowers carried up not long ago." 
 
 Her face clouded instantly: he had a sense of 
 being abruptly shut out in the cold again. 
 
 "Oh, that," she said with a shrug that sug- 
 gested distaste. "Now, is there anything else 
 you wish to explain to me?" 
 
 "I think the rest can wait till morning." 
 
 "Very well;" she rose with weary determina- 
 tion. "I don't pretend that this is more than a 
 temporary arrangement, but while I am here I 
 will try to be what you want. Now, I should like 
 to go to my room. Will you send a maid to 
 unhook me?" 
 
 He looked a trifle bewildered. "We have no 
 maids for unhooking, I am afraid. If it is any- 
 
 20
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 thing Ann Blossom can do for you she is a 
 very dear girl who is living here for the present " 
 
 "No; I am afraid she would fumble. I can't 
 bear to have untrained people touch me." And 
 Miss Joyce turned to the stairs. "I will manage 
 some way." 
 
 "Here is my sister: she will show you your 
 room," said Caspar relievedly as Miss Myrtle 
 made a reluctant appearance. However Myrtle 
 might protest beforehand, he could count on a 
 dignified courtesy from her when the situation 
 was irrevocable. When the door of the southeast 
 chamber had closed on his new case, a few mo- 
 ments later, he stood staring after her with one 
 hand clasping the back of his neck, his outer sign 
 of perplexity. 
 
 "Well, she's honest," he mused with a faint 
 sigh. Then her face, lighted with an old affec- 
 tion, rose before him. "Oh, she'll learn, poor 
 girl, she'll learn!" He turned to his office, but 
 paused absently with his fingers on the knob. 
 "If only it were something simple, like tuber- 
 culous meningitis!" he murmured. Then, hear- 
 ing a trailing step on the verandah, he slipped 
 through the door and closed it noiselessly after 
 him. 
 
 The glass doors opened and a thin, middle- 
 aged woman came slowly in, her arms filled with 
 
 21
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 a varied collection of comforts, including a cush- 
 ion, a shawl, a parasol, two books, a cologne 
 bottle, a thermometer, and a hot- water bag; it 
 being part of the doctor's system that Miss Snell 
 should wait on herself. Her face might have 
 been taken for a sallow mask of melancholy, set 
 incongruously between an old-fashioned patch of 
 little sandy curls above, and a spreading bow of 
 bright plaid ribbon below. Even as she languidly 
 backed against the door to close it, Ann Blossom 
 came running in by another way with her shi- 
 ning face of news. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Snell, did you see her?" she whis- 
 pered eagerly. 
 
 Miss Snell paused and looked patiently at the 
 girl over her load. "And just whom do you 
 mean by 'her,' Miss Blossom?" 
 
 Ann was a little abashed. "Oh, I thought you 
 would remember; we were all talking about her 
 after breakfast," she explained. Miss Snell per- 
 mitted herself to understand. 
 
 "I suppose you mean Miss Joyce. She passed 
 me as she came in, but I did not notice her espe- 
 cially." 
 
 "Oh, she's lovely, Miss Snell!" Ann's enthu- 
 siasm could not long be kept down. "Perfectly 
 beautiful! And she didn't look poor at all. 
 There was stunning lace on her coat and - 
 
 22
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Irish lace is very common," interrupted Miss 
 Snell. 
 
 "But it is pretty," Ann ventured. "And such 
 a strange hat it was probably very Parisian ! 
 Do you suppose that fluffy thing on the side was 
 a bird of paradise? I've read of them." 
 
 Miss Snell shifted her load and turned towards 
 the stairs. "My dear Miss Blossom," she pro- 
 tested, "the doctor's assistant's hats are a little 
 out of my range of vision. She may wear what- 
 ever she pleases so long as she makes the house 
 run a little more smoothly. My hot water this 
 morning tasted of the kettle, and the oh, dear, 
 I must lie down!" She dropped her load into 
 the nearest chair and made an abrupt dive for 
 the couch, where she arranged herself perfectly 
 flat. "And the toast was sent in buttered," she 
 concluded in righteous protest. "It is time now 
 for my third hot water, but I don't suppose any- 
 one will remember it." 
 
 "I will get it, Miss Snell," Ann was beginning 
 when Miss Myrtle appeared with a cup on a small 
 tray, which she silently placed on a table beside 
 Miss Snell. 
 
 "I hope this does not taste of the kettle," the 
 latter said, sniffing anxiously at the cup. Miss 
 Myrtle gave her a look of resigned contempt and 
 went heavily out without answering. Miss Snell, 
 
 2 3
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 who was quite impervious to silent looks, because 
 she never saw them, tasted critically from the 
 extreme edge of the spoon. "It does taste," she 
 worried. "Not kettle this time no, and it 
 isn't smoke." She tasted again and again, with 
 growing distress. " It isn't onions it's it's 
 -gas! It tastes of gas! Now, isn't that out- 
 rageous ? I do think I might have hot 
 water that didn't taste of gas! It isn't much 
 to ask!" And she burst into nervous tears, 
 while Ann Blossom stood by in helpless dismay, 
 timidly patting the couch. 
 
 The door at the head of the stairs opened and 
 Cassandra Joyce, fresh and elaborate in embroi- 
 dered linen, with white shoes and white silk stock- 
 ings and a spreading lavender orchid pinned on 
 her blouse, swept down the stairs. At sight of 
 the quivering figure on the couch she stopped, 
 startled. 
 
 "Is something the matter?" she asked. 
 
 "Miss Snell is a little upset," explained Ann 
 Blossom compassionately. "She will be better 
 in a" 
 
 Miss Snell rose on one elbow, holding out a 
 shaking hand towards the cup. "I wish some- 
 one to taste that hot water and see if it is fit to 
 drink!" she cried. "I want witnesses: I want - 
 
 "But, my dear lady," Miss Joyce interposed, 
 24
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "hot water is never fit to drink. If you must take 
 it, why don't you add a little Scotch?" 
 
 The speech seemed to shock Miss Snell into 
 composure. She slowly drew herself up and put 
 her feet to the floor. 
 
 "You can know very little about nervous 
 invalids, Miss Joyce," she said coldly, while Ann 
 Blossom, looking frightened, took the cup and 
 disappeared in search of a fresh brew. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," Cassandra shrugged. "I 
 have just spent a week with one." 
 
 "You did not continue with her, I notice." 
 That shot did Miss Snell so much good that a 
 wise person would have let her enjoy it; but 
 Cassandra Joyce was very far from wise. 
 
 "Well, no. She died," was the placid answer. 
 Miss Snell rose. 
 
 "You were fortunate to get another situation 
 so quickly," she said, with the blandness of a 
 nervous woman who has declared war to the 
 knife. "I confess I hope that you have had more 
 than one week of experience in filling a position?" 
 The word "situation" did have its effect: Cas- 
 sandra's eyes widened over a silent gasp. Then 
 she laughed, without venom, but nevertheless 
 wickedly. 
 
 "Oh, yes," she said, rather stimulated by the 
 fact that a pleasant looking young man had come 
 
 2 5
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 in from the garden and was hesitating deferen- 
 tially to obtrude himself. "On the boat coming 
 over I acted as companion to a person who was 
 crossing alone. It was a most satisfactory ar- 
 rangement it quite paid for the trip. I have 
 testimonials to prove what a success I was." 
 And her hand touched, lightly and contemptuously, 
 the lavender orchid on her blouse. 
 
 "I could never understand why people hire 
 companions," commented Miss Snell, beginning 
 to gather up her belongings. "I suppose your 
 employer was nervous at travelling alone." 
 
 "He did not seem to be," said Cassandra. 
 
 "He?" sharply. "Some invalid, I suppose?" 
 
 Cassandra picked up a magazine and looked 
 interestedly at the frontispiece. 
 
 "Oh, no perfectly well and strong," she said 
 absently. Miss Snell stared, then turned and 
 went up-stairs without a word. Cassandra slowly 
 lifted her head, and met the pleasant brown eyes 
 of Ernest Cunningham. After a faint pause, she 
 allowed herself to smile. Ernest was laughing 
 softly to himself as he bowed ceremoniously and 
 passed up the stairs. 
 
 "He looks rather possible," she concluded. 
 
 The shrubbery was sending warm breaths of 
 rose and honeysuckle through the open windows. 
 Cassandra, left alone, seated herself on a window- 
 
 26
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 ledge and looked from the shabby old room to the 
 shabby old garden, wondering sadly at her lot. 
 What was she doing here, she, Cassandra Joyce! 
 Her head drooped under the dreariness of the 
 answer. To Caspar, coming in from his office, 
 she looked surprisingly, even pathetically young. 
 Her youth had heretofore been rather obscured 
 by the sweeping dominance, not to say aggres- 
 siveness, of her bearing, and this sudden vision 
 of a bewildered and homesick girl was enlighten- 
 ing. She turned at his step, straightening de- 
 fensively. 
 
 "Do you like your room?" he asked, seating 
 himself in the adjoining window. She met his 
 look of good-will with one of grave inquiry. 
 
 "Oh, yes," she answered absently. "I have 
 been wondering about you," she added. "Are 
 you a reformer?" 
 
 He laughed. "Why, I don't know: it has 
 never occurred to me to ask. It is perfectly pos- 
 sible." 
 
 "But I always supposed a reformer was a very 
 dreadful person." 
 
 "Well, I assure you, I am a very dreadful per- 
 son, now and then." 
 
 Her smile was worth waiting for: it made an- 
 other creature of her. "Oh, not the way I mean. 
 I like you, you know." A princess could not have 
 
 27
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 said it more simply, or with a more naive betrayal 
 that she conferred a favour. Caspar, accustomed 
 to the honourable respect of colleagues and the 
 somewhat doting devotion of patients, found her 
 refreshing. His eyes were amused, yet he was 
 not a little gratified. 
 
 "I am very glad," he answered quite as simply. 
 "I hope you are going to like us all." 
 
 A faint shrug was her only answer to that. She 
 had pulled a spray of roses towards her to smell 
 it, and the action showed a red mark on the inside 
 of her arm, just above the wrist. 
 
 "Why, you have hurt yourself, lately," he 
 commented. She drew her sleeve down over the 
 place. 
 
 "Oh, yes," she said indifferently. "Louisa's 
 gown caught on fire a day or two before I left." 
 
 "And you put it out?" 
 
 "Well, she went into hysterics, and her future 
 husband ran for water, he said afterwards; so 
 I naturally had to. She was annoyed with me 
 later for having used her most valuable Persian 
 rug, when there were cheaper ones at hand." 
 
 He gave an exclamation of impatience. "What 
 a woman!" 
 
 "She was quite right," was the tolerant answer. 
 "The other rugs were just as near: it simply 
 proved that I had lost my head a little. I should 
 
 28
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 remember another time. It is unforgivable to lose 
 one's head, don't you think?" 
 
 "Unforgivable? Assuredly not. You speak 
 with the insolence of perfect health, my dear 
 young woman. Suppose your nerves were like 
 so many crossed wires " 
 
 "Indeed, I think there is a great deal of non- 
 sense talked about nerves," she broke in with 
 authority. "When I feel that way, I know it is 
 nothing in the world but my bad temper. I could 
 control it perfectly well if I had a big enough 
 
 reason. 
 u 
 
 What would you call a big enough reason?" 
 he asked, abandoning his point with an indulgence 
 that evidently reached her, for she gave a brief 
 laugh at herself. 
 
 "I forgot that I was talking to a famous nerve 
 specialist," she apologized. "That is just like 
 me, you know to set you right on your own 
 subject." She was very attractive at that mo- 
 ment, leaning towards him, her face lit with an 
 amused self-derision. "But, frankly, don't you 
 think it is true that women get behind their 
 nerves as an excuse for their own hatefulness? 
 You need never excuse me on the ground that I 
 ' couldn't help it.' I always could." 
 
 "For 'a big enough reason,'" he reminded her. 
 "I want to know what that would be." 
 
 29
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Her eyes fell away from his, and again he 
 realized that she was, after all, only a girl, and 
 tragically ill equipped for the struggle before her. 
 
 "Why, if I had enough to gain by it," she 
 began slowly. He waited with surprising eager- 
 ness. 
 
 "Or ?" he prompted. 
 
 "Or if I cared enough for anyone," she 
 admitted. His quick smile enveloped her like 
 sunshine. 
 
 "Ah, you will get on," he exclaimed irrelevantly. 
 "I am so glad you came my way!" 
 
 She wondered at him silently for a moment. 
 "I think you really must be a reformer," she con- 
 cluded as Hattie appeared in the doorway, grasp- 
 ing a small dinner-bell in an uncompromising fist. 
 
 Not even Ronsard's charming additions to the 
 dinner could quite fuse the varied elements of 
 that strange household. Ann and Ernest were 
 reduced to shy silence by the splendid stranger, 
 while Miss Snell talked with pointed exclusive- 
 ness to Dr. Diman, as to the sole equal vouch- 
 safed her. Miss Myrtle was too tensely expectant 
 of a blunder in the cooking or the service to have 
 any attention for unrelated topics: her anxious 
 gaze hovered prayerfully over each dish cover, 
 and her whispered cautions and directions to 
 Hattie would have driven a less stolid soul insane. 
 
 30
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Hattie stumped on her appointed way without 
 even a pretence of heeding, piled the plates after 
 her own notions of convenience, and left the room 
 when she considered that she had done enough. 
 
 "That girl!" sighed Miss Myrtle. "If she were 
 not such a splendid worker - 
 
 She was interrupted by a shriek from Miss 
 Snell, a shriek that brought them all to their feet. 
 She had started up, her skirts wrapped about her, 
 her face agonized. 
 
 "There is a cat in the room!" she cried. 
 
 "Good Lord!" muttered Cassandra, sinking 
 emphatically into her chair again. Miss Myrtle's 
 face echoed the expression, but the others began 
 looking under the tablecloth and the chairs with 
 kindlv concern. 
 
 " Where, Miss Snell ? Did you see it come in ? " 
 Caspar asked. 
 
 "No-o-o. I feel it," she gasped. "Besides, 
 I heard it meow." They searched the room 
 with honest zeal, but no intruding cat was found. 
 "I couldn't be mistaken," she persisted tearfully, 
 still clinging to her skirts. Cassandra, who had 
 risen perfunctorily and turned towards the win- 
 dow, lifted her hands to stifle a sudden cry of 
 laughter. On the gravel path outside sat a tiny 
 grey kitten, a smug, replete little kitten with its 
 impertinent triangle of a face tilted up at the 
 
 31
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 windows, as though in wonder at the commotion 
 within; a wholly enchanting kitten to anyone not 
 beset by antipathies. She made a sign to Ernest, 
 who was investigating the curtains, and he, too, 
 was shaken by silent laughter at the sight. He 
 slipped quietly out of the room, and a moment 
 later Miss Snell dried her eyes with a faint, re- 
 luctant, "It must have gone away again," and 
 returned to her chair. Cassandra had seen Ernest 
 pick up the little beast and rub his cheek against 
 it as he carried it away, and their eyes met with 
 amused understanding when he returned. He 
 certainly was rather possible, this pleasant-looking 
 young man. She was sorry that after dinner he 
 announced an engagement and hurried off. 
 
 Miss Snell, exhausted by emotion, retreated to 
 her room, and Ann Blossom followed to read to 
 her. Dr. Diman was called out, and Miss Joyce, 
 after lingering before the bookcases, absently 
 glancing at the titles within, yawned and went 
 up to bed. 
 
 "Oh, quelle vie I" she murmured. 
 
 At eleven o'clock Dr. Diman let himself in and 
 sank into a deep chair, running a slow hand up 
 from his forehead into the rough, iron-grey thicket 
 above. His face, even at its tiredest, never ex- 
 pressed worry. "Well, now, what can we do 
 about it?" was his characteristic phrase. If 
 
 3 2
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 wisdom and experience answered, "Nothing," 
 he instantly turned his inexhaustible energy else- 
 where. To-night the lamplight showed him phys- 
 ically fagged and grave with some inner problem, 
 yet fundamentally, as always, at peace with life. 
 When the dropping back of his head lifted his 
 gaze in the direction of the southeast chamber at 
 the head of the stairs, a sudden smile, dubious, 
 compassionate, yet wholly determined, warmed 
 and lit his brown face. The reflection was still 
 there when he tiptoed up the stairs a few minutes 
 later. 
 
 A light had been left for him in the upper hall. 
 He turned to put it out, but paused abruptly, his 
 eyes on two slim shoes that had been confidently 
 placed outside the door of the southeast chamber. 
 
 They were well-shaped shoes, beautifully made : 
 beside his, as distinguished as a racing yacht 
 beside a coal barge. The doctor laughed silently 
 as he picked them up, contemplated the dust on 
 their tips and started to carry them off to his own 
 apartment. Then he hesitated, slowly shook his 
 head and turned back. No parent ever disci- 
 plined a child more reluctantly than Dr. Diman 
 replaced those slim shoes, undusted and un- 
 polished, at his new assistant's threshold. 
 
 33
 
 II 
 
 THE next day dawned in unseasonable and 
 exhausting heat, a leaden heat that seemed to 
 endow trivial objects with unexpected weight 
 and that took the stiffening out of backbones as 
 well as out of collars. Cassandra did not appear 
 at the eight o'clock breakfast, but not long after- 
 wards the following note from her was brought 
 to Dr. Diman : - 
 
 I think I will not begin my duties to-day, it is so very warm. 
 Will you kindly have a cup of coffee and some fruit sent up to 
 
 me? I shall not want anything else. 
 
 C. J. 
 
 Caspar considered for at least sixty seconds, 
 thoughtfully pinching his lower lip; then his eyes 
 took on the amused determination with which 
 they had regarded the boots the night before, and 
 he wrote back : 
 
 DEAR Miss JOYCE, 
 
 It certainly is outrageously hot. I wish I could let you off, 
 but I have some case records that I want written up to-day. 
 I think you will find the hall cooler than your room. If you 
 will be here at ten o'clock, I will show you how to do it. Ann 
 Blossom will gladly carry you up some breakfast, I am sure. 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 CASPAR DIMAN. 
 
 34
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Then, still covertly amused, he went in search 
 of Ann. 
 
 At ten Cassandra appeared, in thinnest white, 
 her expression leaning rather to insolence than to 
 practical efficiency. If she expected to be cajoled 
 into good humour, she was disappointed. Dr. 
 Diman was entirely the employer, brief, imper- 
 sonal, interested only in the work to be done. 
 Neither languor nor wilful stupidity could rouse 
 the faintest gleam of irritation. He went pa- 
 tiently over and over the work with her until, 
 having brains as well as a fair amount of educa- 
 tion, she could no longer pretend not to under- 
 stand. 
 
 "I think you will do it very well indeed," he 
 commented finally, while she sat like a simmer- 
 ing schoolgirl. "Keep on at this until lunch 
 time, and don't forget to write down all telephone 
 messages. I don't think you will come across 
 anything puzzling." 
 
 He took up his hat and bag and went to the 
 door, but there he paused to look back with a 
 hint of a relenting smile. "You will find it really 
 interesting when you get going," he assured her 
 in a quite different tone. His friendly persua- 
 siveness seemed only to increase her resentment: 
 she let him go with no reply beyond an expressive 
 lifting of her eyebrows. When he had disap- 
 
 35
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 peared, she threw down her pen with an angry 
 sob. 
 
 "Why should / have to do this?" she cried. 
 
 The sound of someone entering the next room 
 presently made her press her trembling lips 
 together and bend down absorbedly over her 
 writing. Through the folding doors, wide open 
 to-day, she could see Ann Blossom tidying the 
 doctor's office, wholly unconscious of scrutiny. 
 Her voice, sweet and joyous, came with a laugh 
 as she stumbled over a footstool. 
 
 "Little stool, if you trip Ann up again, you 
 are going to get into trouble," she announced, 
 righting it with a reproving pat. 
 
 Ann's warmest admirer could not have called 
 her methods of housework practical. First she 
 swept a little, then dusted, then swept a little 
 more, then forgot to gather up the dust in the 
 interest of polishing the big silver inkstand with 
 her cloth, one corner of which was moistened for 
 the purpose in a fashion not to be commended. 
 Then she drew the shades even, and dusted a 
 little more, with an absent-minded good-will that 
 presently resulted in an overturned jar of flowers 
 and a pattering stream of water. She picked it 
 up with remorseful tenderness. 
 
 "I'm so sorry, you poor things. Don't mind: 
 I will get you some fresh water in two minutes." 
 
 36
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 But the end of two minutes found her lying 
 over the table on her elbows, drawn by the* pic- 
 tures of a new magazine. Presently she settled 
 back into a chair, bringing the magazine with 
 her, wholly lost to her surroundings. Cassandra, 
 diverted and a little irritated for she herself 
 had been born with an instinct for businesslike 
 methods saw her presently put out her arm 
 as though she drew some little body to her side 
 and unconsciously bend down her cheek. She 
 read that way for half an hour, and when finally 
 she lifted her head, her first glance was a smiling 
 one down by her chair. Then she saw Cassandra 
 writing at her desk in the great hall. 
 
 " Oh, I didn't know you were there, Miss Joyce," 
 she exclaimed. "I am afraid I have been mak- 
 ing a great deal of noise. Why didn't you tell 
 me to shut the doors?" 
 
 "You didn't disturb me." Cassandra pushed 
 back her work and clasped her hands behind her 
 head. "I wish you had," she added restlessly. 
 "I wish anything would happen!" 
 
 "That bad little cat happened again." Ann 
 evidently considered the news exciting. "Luck- 
 ily, Miss Snell was not up. I took it home and 
 told them they really must keep it there," she 
 added with manifest regret. Cassandra yawned. 
 
 "Why not send Miss Snell home and keep the 
 37
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 kitten?" she asked. Ann looked startled, though 
 she laughed. 
 
 "I'm afraid Miss Snell needs us the most," 
 she explained. 
 
 "Ah, you are all so good here!" Cassandra 
 protested. "How is a black sheep like me to 
 fit in?" She looked very handsome and very 
 powerful, with one arm thrown over the back of 
 her chair. Ann's troubled eyes fell. 
 
 "In what way should you like us different?" 
 she asked. Cassandra turned away with an im- 
 patient lifting of her palms. 
 
 "Oh, it is I that am out of place. I am not 
 ready for heaven yet, that is all. Heaven bores 
 me." She turned back to the desk, digging her 
 clenched hands into her cheeks. "And no doubt 
 I bore you, unmercifully," she added, taking up 
 her pen and going to work. In the silence that 
 followed, Ann's gaze returned again and again to 
 the handsome, severe profile. At last she drew 
 breath, timidly, for an effort. 
 
 "We could give a tea for you, Miss Joyce." 
 
 Cassandra lifted her head, startled. The wide, 
 sweet eyes were fixed on her with a look so kind 
 and sorry that an impulse to derisive laughter was 
 abruptly quenched. 
 
 "Oh, don't bother about me. I am all right," 
 she said shortly. She tried to stop there, but the 
 
 38
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 pent-up storm had to find expression. "How do 
 you stand it here?" she demanded. 
 
 "Stand it? Here!" Ann had only blank 
 amazement for the question. 
 
 "Yes, here," impatiently. "To be poor, to be 
 nobody, to be off at one side in a hot hole without 
 a thing to look forward to but three meals a 
 day- ' she sprang to her feet "do you call 
 that living?" 
 
 With the clouding of Ann's face had come a 
 shade of reserve. "I think I call it living to be 
 under the same roof with Dr. Diman." Her 
 voice showed that she was deeply hurt, though 
 not for herself. "And to be his friend, to have 
 his affection I call that very much more than 
 just living." A mist dimmed her eyes. "Ah, 
 wait till you know him; then you will under- 
 stand," she said, and went hurriedly away. Cas- 
 sandra stared after her with a disapproving 
 frown. 
 
 "So the girl is in love with him," she concluded. 
 "Ah, me, I wish I had someone to fall in love 
 with!" A sharp clenching of her hands seemed 
 to suggest need of a victim rather than a lover. 
 
 She had been working half the morning in the 
 deserted living-room when the sound of a motor 
 coming to a halt at the front gate made her glance 
 absently towards the open windows. Through 
 
 39
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 the shrubbery she could see the gleam of a tour- 
 ing car, then its occupant as he rose to alight, 
 lifting his cap to wipe his forehead. Starting to 
 her feet, she shrank out of range of the windows, 
 a look of hot annoyance in her face. She waited 
 until the caller was on the steps, for a second 
 glance, then hurried out into the passage to inter- 
 cept Hattie. 
 
 "That is a caller for me," she explained as the 
 door- bell rang. "Please tell him that I am not 
 at home." 
 
 "I will not," said Hattie, flatly, though with- 
 out rancour. "Y'are home, ain't you?" she 
 added in explanation before the blaze of angry 
 astonishment in the other's eyes could find 
 words. 
 
 "But how utterly idiotic!" Cassandra, tower- 
 ing mightily, might have frightened a less intrepid 
 soul. 
 
 "A lie's a lie," said Hattie, baldly. "I'll not 
 say y're not at home when y'are. I'll do this for 
 you, though," she added, as though in compassion 
 for the girl's wrath. "You run into the yard, 
 and I'll say y're out. Hurry along, or he'll be 
 ringin' again." 
 
 "Would you object to saying also that I shall 
 not be in for some time?" Cassandra asked icily. 
 Hattie considered. 
 
 40
 
 OPEN HOU'SE 
 
 "I'll say I don't know when you'll be In; for 
 that's true enough," she conceded. "There he 
 goes again scoot now, for I'll not say y're out 
 while y're in this house." 
 
 Cassandra's rage ended in laughter as she 
 slipped out by the kitchen and ran noiselessly 
 round to the verandah, whence she might hear 
 what happened at the front door. Crouching 
 behind a vine, she could see Hattie's stout back 
 through the open glass doors, and hear an assert- 
 ive male voice. 
 
 "You don't know when she will be in?" it 
 was repeating. 
 
 "No, sir, I couldn't say." 
 
 The caller hesitated, kicked impatiently at the 
 step, then left a card and went away. Cassandra 
 did not leave her hiding-place until she heard 
 the distant departure of the motor. It had not 
 occurred to her how her action might look until 
 she saw a long figure^in black glasses, with a step- 
 ladder over one shoulder, staring at her in open 
 amazement from across the lawn. Her laugh 
 was an invitation, which he promptly accepted. 
 
 "I was merely avoiding a caller," she explained. 
 "Hattie refused to say that I was not at home." 
 
 "Well, literally, of course," Ernest began. 
 She frowned, shaking her head as though a gnat 
 threatened it. 
 
 41
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "You are not going to raise that tiresome ques- 
 tion!" she protested. 
 
 "I am afraid I was," he said, courageously, 
 though he had flushed a little. She smiled with 
 sudden liking for him, and took the trouble to 
 mitigate her abruptness. 
 
 " It is too warm for moral questions," she begged 
 off. "Dear me, I ought to go back; but it is 
 too warm to work." 
 
 "It is too warm not to," Ernest corrected her 
 with his serene smile. "Work is the only thing 
 that makes such a day bearable." 
 
 "Your kind of work, perhaps. My kind only 
 makes it worse. Why can't I try yours?" 
 
 "Do you think you could roll a tennis court?" 
 
 "Certainly. I didn't know that there was 
 one." 
 
 "There isn't, really. I marked out an imita- 
 tion of one on the lawn, to give Miss Blossom 
 some lessons. It is very bad." 
 
 "I will come and look at it." She led the way 
 with a reckless sense of escape, her heavy brown 
 hair taking on a reddish shine in the sunlight, 
 her gown mistily white against the grass. Ernest, 
 shouldering the ladder, paused to take off his 
 coloured glasses. 
 
 Presently in the deserted hall the telephone 
 rang, and rang again; but no one heard it. It 
 
 42
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 was ringing exasperatedly, an hour later, when 
 Dr. Diman came in. He took down the receiver 
 and was greeted by a relieved, "Well, Diman, have 
 I got you at last?" 
 
 " Hello, McCarthy," he returned. "Have you 
 been trying long?" 
 
 McCarthy, it seemed, had been trying at inter- 
 vals for an hour. Dr. Diman disposed of his 
 business somewhat absently; then, looking puzzled, 
 he glanced into the neighbouring rooms and 
 knocked at the southeast chamber hi search of 
 his assistant. Not finding her, he stepped out 
 on the verandah, and was greeted by sounds of 
 merriment. Under a huge maple, symmetrical 
 as a pyramid, sat Cassandra, lounging in the 
 grass with her back against the trunk, smiling 
 indolently at Ernest, who was perched half-way 
 up a step-ladder, clasping one thin knee and thrown 
 back with laughter. It was a cheerful scene, but 
 Caspar did not seem to appreciate it. Neither 
 benignity nor amusement was conspicuous in his 
 expression as, after a brief hesitation, he turned 
 back to the house. Before he could take action 
 and action was very plainly foreshadowed in 
 the closing of his lips the telephone rang again : 
 someone else had been trying for an hour to get 
 him. Then he had to smooth out his frown as 
 Miss Snell came drooping down the stairs. 
 
 43
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 None of his cases mattered more to him than 
 this melancholy and unlovely derelict. In the 
 four months that he had had her under his care, 
 he had put her on her feet and set her to eating 
 three meals a day, achievements which five expen- 
 sive sanitoriums had failed to accomplish. From 
 an outside point of view, it might not seem to 
 matter very much whether Miss Snell were in or 
 out of bed; but it mattered intensely to the doc- 
 tor, whose interest was scientific quite as much 
 as humane, and who saw in this measure of suc- 
 cess vindication for certain beliefs that many of 
 his colleagues found violently irritating. The case 
 of Miss S. was to be an important adjunct to the 
 next edition of his book on nervous diseases. 
 
 He greeted her now with the kindly warmth 
 that was a vital part of his treatment, and ac- 
 cepted with alert interest some newspaper clip- 
 pings she brought. In an inspired moment he 
 had once asked her, as a service to him, to collect 
 from the newspapers a certain class of items; and 
 it was after undertaking this daily bit of unselfish 
 work that Miss Snell had begun to make definite 
 progress. The clippings, which concerned lon- 
 gevity, were carefully gone over and then inserted 
 in a scrap-book. Her long, narrow face, which 
 seemed at first glance all nose, was almost bright 
 by the time their task was finished. 
 
 44
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "I have been thinking that I would subscribe- 
 for some western papers, too," she suggested. 
 "We might get valuable items." The enthusiasm 
 of Caspar's assent was wholly genuine, though 
 perhaps it was more for the aroused interest than 
 for the plan itself. 
 
 "We are going to have a mighty interest- 
 ing record here some day," he announced, re- 
 placing the scrap-book in its drawer. "By 
 the way, where is all the family this morning?" 
 he added. "The house seemed deserted when I 
 came in." 
 
 "I believe Miss Myrtle is occupied in the attic; 
 and Miss Blossom is helping her. At least, I 
 inferred so by the incessant tramping over my 
 head. I did think that on the third floor I should 
 have quiet." 
 
 "The attic, to-day? How crazy!" Caspar 
 started up. "I shall go and drag them down." 
 
 "Dr. Diman one moment, please." Miss 
 Snell's sallow face flushed. "There is something 
 I must speak about. Are you sure that this Miss 
 Joyce is quite a suitable person to introduce into 
 your household?" 
 
 "Why, I think so. Why not?" Her lips 
 seemed to be gathered up with a drawing-string: 
 she said nothing. "Of course, she is new to our 
 ways and will make blunders," he went on, "but 
 
 45
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 I believe that there is fine stuff in the girl. She 
 will come out all right." 
 
 The drawing-string relaxed sufficiently for a 
 sharp, "I fear you are credulous, Dr. Diman." 
 
 He leaned against the stairpost and folded his 
 arms across his chest. "Tell me just what you 
 mean," he urged kindly. The smouldering griev- 
 ance flamed in her little sickly eyes. 
 
 "I go simply by what she herself says. She 
 boasted in my hearing that she crossed the ocean 
 in company with a gentleman. What do you 
 say to that?" 
 
 The doctor's smile was a relieved one. "Why, 
 I should say he was a lucky fellow," he answered, 
 cheerfully. 
 
 "I do not think you are speaking sincerely," 
 was the cold rebuke. 
 
 "Oh, come, Miss Snell, she's an American 
 girl, you know." 
 
 "Three years in Paris can affect even an Amer- 
 ican girl, you will discover. She gave me to 
 understand that he paid the expenses of her 
 trip." 
 
 Caspar became suddenly grave. "If that were 
 true the way it sounds, do you think she would 
 be very likely to boast of it? She has not had 
 much show to amount to anything, but, take my 
 word for it, she is sound fundamentally. She is 
 
 46
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 in a hard position; I think we shall all have to 
 help her a little don't you?" 
 
 "I doubt if I can be of much assistance." Miss 
 Snell turned away and affected to look for a vol- 
 ume in the bookcase. "The young woman seems 
 to be quite equal to any emergency." 
 
 Caspar's troubled gaze fell, and so chanced to 
 encounter a small object lying under a chair. 
 He stooped and picked up a faded rag, all that 
 remained of the spreading lavender orchid that 
 Cassandra had worn the night before. It had 
 suited her so well that he had given it little thought 
 at the time, but now its luxurious suggestion 
 brought an unwelcome question. Then, as her 
 deep, rapid voice, careless, imperious, yet with 
 some intangible note of honesty, came in through 
 the open doors, he tossed the flower into the 
 waste-basket with a shrug and went up to scold 
 his sister. He should have stayed to scold his 
 assistant, but he had a sudden conviction that he 
 could accomplish that task better after he had 
 had his luncheon. 
 
 It is not easy to rebuke a young woman of 
 Cassandra's bearing, who shows no faintest 
 consciousness of having been delinquent. Only 
 a man of Caspar's perfect singleness of purpose 
 could have confronted the prospect so placidly as 
 he ate his hearty luncheon. He wanted Cassan- 
 
 47
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 dra to grow into certain realizations, for the good 
 of the world in general and of herself in particular: 
 how he himself might appear in the process of 
 bringing this about never crossed his mind. His 
 entire absence of self-consciousness was always 
 an important element of his power over beings 
 and events. Those who called him a crank 
 complained that he sometimes lacked a sense of 
 the ridiculous. 
 
 The household scattered after luncheon. Sev- 
 eral headaches were evident: Ernest was paying 
 for the removal of the dark glasses; Ann, white 
 and wilted, for Miss Myrtle's zeal about the 
 state of the attic. Cassandra spent some mo- 
 ments in selecting a novel, and started for her 
 own room in the wake of the others. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Joyce, I shall want you down here;" 
 Dr. Diman was writing a letter with a fountain 
 pen, a book balanced on his knee serving for a 
 desk, and he spoke without lifting his eyes. Cas- 
 sandra paused, pressing her novel to her side with 
 her elbow. 
 
 "What for?" Her tone was impatient. 
 
 "I will explain in a minute. Suppose, mean- 
 while, you go on with those records. You don't 
 seem to have covered much ground this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 She stood perfectly still. Some electrical tensity 
 48
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 in the silence suggested that if he met her eyes 
 there would be an explosion. But he wrote 
 busily on, without looking up, obviously without 
 the least concern for the effect of his words. 
 Presently she came slowly, somewhat rigidly, 
 down and seated herself at the desk with her 
 hands pointedly idle in her lap. Caspar turned 
 a page and wrote on, peace and power enthroned 
 on his wide brow; the steel strength of his broad 
 frame was evident even in the movement of his 
 hand across the paper. A third page was begun: 
 Cassandra flung back her head with an exasper- 
 ated clenching of her fingers. Nevertheless, be- 
 fore the page was turned again, she had taken 
 up her pen and gone to work. He left her alone 
 for ten minutes longer; then she suddenly found 
 him standing beside her, his hands in his coat 
 pockets, his eyes both kind and sorry. 
 
 "Miss Joyce, we must understand each other a 
 little better," he began. Her mouth stiffened 
 defensively, but he was undismayed. "You see, 
 you have never worked before, so, naturally, you 
 don't know anything about being hired." He 
 smiled over the last word, but her straight gaze 
 was unrelentingly stony. "It means a great many 
 things that are unpleasant at first, I suppose. 
 You can't sell your time, you know, and have it, 
 too. I urged you to come here because I thought 
 
 49
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 it would be a good thing for us both, and I am 
 sure it will be. But I don't want you to look on 
 the work as an imposition on my part, or a favour 
 on yours. Don't you see that that isn't reason- 
 able?" 
 
 She kept obstinately silent at first, but he waited. 
 Then the storm broke. 
 
 "Reasonable!" Her voice trembled with pas- 
 sionate contempt, "What do I care about rea- 
 sonable! I can only see that my life has come to 
 an end what is there here for a woman like 
 me? I thought it was bad enough with Louisa, 
 but at least I had Paris ! How can you expect me 
 to endure this little bourgeois hole with frumps 
 and school-teachers for companions? Reason- 
 able! Oh, good God!" 
 
 He was desperately sorry, but unshaken. "It 
 won't seem like that to you in a little while 
 take my word for it, it won't," he told her ear- 
 nestly. "But if, after a fair trial, you still hate 
 it, I shall be the last person to urge your staying. 
 I will help you as best I can to get established 
 somewhere else. I promise you that." 
 
 "But where what can I do?" Her rage had 
 abated, but she would not be conciliated. "I 
 have no relatives to speak of none that I can 
 stand. And those who might have helped, lost 
 too much money by my father's failure; they 
 
 5
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 naturally don't feel impelled to house his daughter. 
 No, there is nothing left for me but to die. I do 
 wish I could." 
 
 "You are too thorough a sport to say or think 
 that," he protested. "A girl with your bearing 
 isn't a quitter." 
 
 "Oh, words, words!" She flung out her hands 
 in exasperation. "I will do the work I'll stick 
 it out for a week or two, anyway. But, for 
 heaven's sake, don't expect me to be a good girl 
 and love my task. I know what I want, and it 
 isn't here that is all there is about it. All the 
 kind, wise, high-class talk in the world isn't 
 going to make an atom of difference. Can't you 
 see that for yourself?" 
 
 His answer was a counter question. "If you 
 can't stick it out what then?" She turned 
 away with a defiant narrowing of her eyes. 
 
 "We will see when the time comes. Now, do 
 you want me to go on with those records?" 
 
 "Yes, for the next few days. Don't work after 
 four o'clock." He would have lingered, but she 
 had pointedly gone to work, so he accepted his 
 dismissal and closed the door of his ofhce between 
 them. Nothing had been said about the tele- 
 phone, after all. 
 
 Few patients came, for Dr. Diman's fame as a 
 nerve specialist had long ago forced him to give 
 
 Si
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 up general practice. Cassandra had a dim idea 
 of punishing him by working until dinnertime, 
 but when he hurried off, an hour later, his mind 
 was so obviously remote from her and her martyr- 
 dom that she abandoned the idea and stopped on 
 the first' stroke of four. The neat pages of the 
 record book began to look imposing, but she 
 would have died rather than admit a pride in 
 them. 
 
 As she rose, ill luck directed Miss Snell down 
 the stairs in search of the faint breeze that had 
 begun to stir the garden. Her hands were so 
 filled with bottles, cushions, and books that she 
 was quite justified in asking help in regard to the 
 linen parasol in the closet under the stairs. But 
 her manner of asking it was unfortunate, espe- 
 cially as addressed to Cassandra. The doctor's 
 assistant looked at her coolly from head to foot, 
 then turned to the wall and pulled an old-fash- 
 ioned crimson bell rope, coeval with the rep cur- 
 tains, that had been left hanging more as a bit of 
 local colour than for any practical purpose. Miss 
 Snell's face became a dull, even red under its 
 patch of little sandy curls. 
 
 "Perhaps I am mistaken, Miss Joyce, in sup- 
 posing that you are employed here?" Her cour- 
 tesy was excruciating. "Dr. Diman certainly 
 gave me to understand -
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Mademoiselle rang?" Ronsard was hovering 
 in the doorway, looking agitated. Never before 
 in his experience had the house bell rung, and a 
 bony brown hand had to be pressed over his heart 
 to quiet it. 
 
 "Oh, Ronsard, thank you for coming." 
 Cassandra's tone could be wonderfully sweet. 
 "Miss Snell would like the linen parasol from 
 under the stairs brought out to her in the garden. 
 Perhaps you will be so kind?" 
 
 "But surely with the greatest willingness!" 
 His wide-armed bow was received by Miss Snell's 
 rigidly departing back, but his courtesy was proof 
 against anything; it would not even let him look 
 puzzled. "If my old eyes can but distinguish 
 it - 'he was fumbling helplessly in the closet, 
 and Cassandra, having routed the enemy, came 
 to his aid. 
 
 "Here it is, and thank you, Ronsard. I don't 
 know what I should do without you," she said in 
 French, and he went off beaming, offering to the 
 shrubbery the little bows that rose up like bubbles 
 from his deeply gratified spirit. 
 
 By dinner time a strong breeze was sweeping 
 through the house, scattering headaches and 
 bringing everyone down refreshed in spirit. Dr. 
 Diman had not returned, but Miss Myrtle plain- 
 tively explained just what housekeeping would 
 
 53
 
 be if they attempted to wait meals for him. It 
 was not a very satisfying dinner, for Ronsard had 
 quite forgotten to put the roast in the oven until 
 Hattie asked for it with a view to setting it on the 
 table. 
 
 "I am sure nobody wants hot meat after such 
 a day," was Ann Blossom's cheerful comment, 
 and indeed no one did, but Miss Myrtle could 
 not be comforted. Even after they had left the 
 table the topic continued. 
 
 "If you had to do the housekeeping for a few 
 days, you would understand what I go through," 
 she was assuring them, when a burst of thunder 
 seemed to crack the sky just over their heads, 
 letting fall a torrent of rain. Miss Snell gasped 
 and fled to her room, having a theory that the 
 great hall chimney made that spot especially 
 dangerous; and Miss Myrtle panted after her 
 to attend to the windows. Ann Blossom stood 
 in the doorway, trying to listen. 
 
 "He will be so wet," she worried. Cassandra's 
 glance was impatient; people in love always 
 seemed to her a little absurd. 
 
 "Perhaps he will have sense enough to stay 
 under cover," she suggested. 
 
 "He won't," said Ann, positively. She con- 
 tinued to watch there, with occasional excursions 
 to the end of the verandah, while Cassandra 
 
 54
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 settled herself by an open window, head tilted 
 back and arms thrown out to invite the fragrant 
 coolness. Ernest, after wandering about for a 
 few minutes, came to a temporary halt beside 
 her, perching on the arm of a chair. She let her 
 eyes rest on him without* troubling to turn her 
 head. 
 
 He had pleased her that morning, this guileless, 
 intelligent young man who had challenged her 
 to definitions with the assurance of a school- 
 master, and answered imperious questions about 
 himself with the trustful simplicity of a little boy. 
 She had taken a whim to know about his past 
 life, and apparently nothing in it had been hidden 
 from her. The meagre tale of poverty and work, 
 with its pitiful triumph of a professorship at an 
 obscure college, had oppressed and angered her, 
 for the difference between nothing a year and 
 twelve hundred a year seemed to her scarcely 
 worth considering, certainly not at all worth 
 such heart-breaking efforts; and his good-hu- 
 moured satisfaction with his lot was in her eyes a 
 species of stupidity. Yet he was nice to look at, 
 in spite of his thinness and his scholarly pallor, 
 and his manners, though old-fashioned and a 
 trifle too formal, were nevertheless manners, and 
 so gave him a touch of social grace sadly lack- 
 ing in Dr. Diman. On the whole, he was an 
 
 55
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 acquisition, and she welcomed him with a faint 
 smile. 
 
 "I suppose you know that an open window is 
 not the safest place in a thunder-storm," he 
 began. Her gaze went back to the flashing, 
 resounding night. 
 
 "It would be a very easy death," she answered, 
 indifferently. 
 
 "But why die?" he demanded, kindling at the 
 hope of an argument. 
 
 "Why not?" she returned. It baffled him for 
 a moment. 
 
 "You don't really mean that," he protested. 
 She looked amused. 
 
 "People always say, 'You don't mean that,' I 
 notice, when they happen not to agree with 
 you." 
 
 "Well, then, if you mean what you imply, you 
 must defend it;" and he settled down to the topic 
 with his hands clasped about one knee, com- 
 bative enthusiasm in his pleasant face. Her lids 
 drooped expressively. 
 
 "It is too much trouble," she murmured. 
 
 "There he is," cried Ann, darting out. She 
 brought Caspar in with a hand on his drenched 
 shoulder, scolding him affectionately. 
 
 "Now you go and change everything while I 
 get your dinner," she commanded, and he dripped 
 
 56
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 obediently up the stairs as she flew off to the 
 kitchen. The smile with which he had received 
 his orders was irritating to Cassandra, whom he 
 had not seen; it was too warm, too wholly with- 
 out reservations. What it expressed seemed too 
 much for a man of his power to expend on a 
 crude young nobody, no matter how adoring she 
 showed herself. One could not especially value 
 the esteem of a man who set such store on a mere 
 Ann Blossom. 
 
 "Do you like it here as much as Miss Blossom 
 does?" she asked suddenly. 
 
 "I should say so." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Why?" Ernest meditated. "There are so 
 many reasons. For one thing, just knowing a 
 man like Dr. Diman, seeing him every day and - 
 
 "Yes, yes." She moved her head restlessly. 
 "I know that reason it is a privilege to be his 
 friend, and all that. But, besides that ?" 
 
 "Well, Miss Joyce, when a man has no home 
 and no capital, and he is suddenly told that he 
 must stop work for a year did it ever occur to 
 you to wonder what he does?" 
 
 "And so Dr. Diman hired you to look after 
 his garden?" 
 
 "Hired? Oh, dear me, no. He invited me to 
 come here and live until I was ready for work 
 
 57
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 again. I insisted on the gardening as some small 
 return." 
 
 "Then he does not pay you?" 
 
 "Indeed, no. The debt is all the other way." 
 
 "Does he pay Miss Blossom?" 
 
 "Why, he has helped her more or less, I 
 believe; but not as pay for services. She gives 
 those out of pure gratitude, and he only lets her 
 because the work does her good." 
 
 "He pays me," said Cassandra, after a pause. 
 
 "Ah, well, that is probably different:" he seemed 
 embarrassed by her frankness. 
 
 The doctor spoke to them as he came down, 
 but went on to the dining-room without pausing. 
 Through the open doors they could hear Ron- 
 sard explaining with anguish the lack of a roast, 
 and Caspar's deep laugh at the news. Between 
 them, he and Ann evidently restored the old chef 
 to self-respect ; there was even a ghost of a respon- 
 sive cackle as he finally took himself off. 
 
 "Why different?" asked Cassandra. 
 
 "I suppose our difficulties are more tem- 
 porary." Ernest spoke reluctantly, his eyes 
 averted. "I shall go back to my work in 
 September." 
 
 "And Miss Blossom will she go back to 
 hers?" 
 
 A smile crossed his face, though he dropped his 
 58
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 head to hide it. "I am not sure that she will," 
 he said. Cassandra stared at him frowningly. 
 
 "Good heavens, does he think Dr. Diman 
 would marry that girl!" was her impatient com- 
 ment; but she kept it to herself. Ann's joyous 
 laugh, echoed by a deep note from Caspar, came 
 to them from the dining-room, moving her to 
 protest. " You people here are all so outrageously 
 cheerful! Even in my good days, when I had 
 everything, I didn't feel like that." 
 
 Ernest's face brightened at the opportunity she 
 gave him. "Ah, but had you everything?" he 
 asked triumphantly. 
 
 "Money, position, youth, health, decently good 
 looks, freedom I always did exactly what I 
 pleased; I fancy that is about everything." 
 
 "And you were unhappy?" 
 
 "Oh, not in a white rage, as I am now most of 
 the time; but I don't remember ever feeling 
 well, as Miss Blossom would, for instance, if she 
 baked a cake and it turned out eatable; or if 
 someone gave her a lace collar. I suppose I lack 
 a capacity for happiness." 
 
 "I don't believe that, Miss Joyce. The flaw 
 is in your definition of 'everything;' you have 
 left out the things that count most." 
 
 "And what are they?" 
 
 "One of them is work. For a girl like you, 
 59
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 beauty and money and all that are not really 
 anything, after a while." 
 
 "How 'like me'?" She had a look of amuse- 
 ment for this unsophisticated young professor's 
 estimate of Cassandra Joyce, product of complex 
 experiences. 
 
 "I may be all wrong, of course;" he was evi- 
 dently rinding the tete-a-te*te exciting; "but it 
 seems to me that you might have business abil- 
 ities, that you might run something with decision 
 and judgment and make a great success of it. 
 I couldn't, myself, at all; I should potter over 
 details and forget what I was doing. But you 
 have I don't know head, power some- 
 thing like that. And people who have that are 
 not happy unless they are using it." 
 
 She was not displeased at the idea. "If I only 
 had something worth running!" she commented. 
 "Find me that and I will try your prescription." 
 
 "But work is only half of my prescription, Miss 
 Joyce." 
 
 "What is the other half?" 
 
 "I should think a young lady could guess." 
 The speech and the little bow that went with it 
 were archaic, professorial. Cassandra made a 
 mental note to break him of this occasional florid- 
 ness, as well as of saying "Miss Joyce" so often. 
 
 "Oh, love!" she shrugged with rather exag- 
 60
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 gerated contempt. "Do you still romance about 
 that over here?" 
 
 "Indeed we do. I mean every kind, you know, 
 down to what you give a dog." 
 
 "Up to what you give a dog," she corrected 
 him. "I am sure I have never cared for a human 
 being half as much as I did for my old French 
 bulldog." 
 
 "Then I envy you; you have the best thing in 
 life still before you." 
 
 "How young you are!" 
 
 He was not at all disconcerted. "Wait a 
 little," he warned her. "You can't live with Dr. 
 Diman and not have affections it is impossible. 
 And once they are started I am sorry we have 
 not a dog for you to begin on." 
 
 "I might begin on you," suggested Cassandra. 
 He laughed, a startled, almost a shocked, laugh; 
 then he took it up with a courage that showed 
 him capable of learning. 
 
 "Excellent idea! Pray use me to any extent." 
 
 "But suppose you don't like me do I have 
 to go on just the same?" 
 
 He kept up bravely. "I should not worry 
 about that." 
 
 "How do I start?" 
 
 "Well, instead of thinking, 'He is only an ob- 
 scure professor of botany,' you must say to your- 
 
 61
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 self, 'He's a friendly soul who would take a great 
 deal of trouble for my comfort or enjoyment; 
 and he is just as responsive to cordiality as if he 
 had a tail to wag. How pleasant that is!' And 
 presently you will be feeling a real affection." 
 
 "What will be the good of that?" 
 
 "What is the good of sunlight, or an open fire? 
 Warmth and cheer." 
 
 She considered him reflectively. "You are 
 very nice," she admitted. "I really think I 
 could teach you a thing or two." He was having 
 a good many shocks, this young professor. For 
 an instant his candid face betrayed that her teach- 
 ing him was a wholly new idea ; but he caught up 
 as nimbly as he had before. 
 
 "I am sure of it, Miss Joyce," he said, with his 
 little bow. "And if there is anything I can teach 
 you in return " 
 
 "Aren't you to teach me how to develop affec- 
 tions?" 
 
 "To be sure. It is a bargain, then," and he 
 held out his hand. To respond with her own 
 bored Cassandra: shaking hands on bargains 
 seemed to her crude and sentimental. She let 
 her fingers rest in his a scant second, and was 
 annoyed that she had done so much when she 
 realized that Dr. Diman and Ann Blossom must 
 have seen the action from the doorway. She rose 
 
 62
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 as they entered and came over to the lamp with 
 an obviously suppressed yawn. 
 
 "Have you been dining all this time?" she 
 asked, turning over the books on the centre 
 table. 
 
 "No; we have been talking." Caspar's tone 
 was civil, nothing more; all the warm cordiality 
 was gone. 
 
 "Oh, what have I done now!" was Cassandra's 
 impatient thought, and she turned her back on 
 him. Ann Blossom was looking at her with a 
 strained expression that flashed into her vivid 
 smile as their eyes met. 
 
 "I am afraid I have been very selfish, keeping 
 Dr. Diman all to myself," she said, in her sweet, 
 joyous voice. "But we were having such a nice 
 time." 
 
 "Mr. Cunningham has been very good about 
 amusing me," said Cassandra, turning to the 
 stairs. "I am going to let him off now. Good 
 night." 
 
 "I think I shall go, too," added Ann. Ernest 
 looked back at her from the window. "The rain 
 has stopped," he said. "Don't you want a con- 
 stitutional on the verandah?" 
 
 "Not to-night. I am too sleepy." And she 
 went up-stairs humming softly to herself. Ernest 
 soon followed, and Dr. Diman, left alone, settled 
 
 63
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 down to a pile of medical magazines. But he 
 did not at once begin reading; and his eyes, lifted 
 towards the door of the southeast chamber, were 
 grave to the verge of severity. 
 
 At twelve o'clock he was roused from his read- 
 ing by quick, heavy steps above. Miss Myrtle 
 in a grey flannel wrapper, her face suggesting 
 recent sleep, came fumbling down the stairs in 
 distressful haste, a slip of paper in her hand. 
 
 " What 's up, Myrtle ? " Caspar had started to 
 his feet. 
 
 "Oh, Caspar, is that you? I forgot to order 
 the extra milk for the pudding to-morrow it 
 woke me out of a sound sleep. I sat right up in 
 bed, my heart pounding, just as if someone ha.d 
 called me, and I had such 'a time finding the 
 matches. I don't suppose I shall sleep again 
 for hours." 
 
 Caspar dropped back in his chair with expres- 
 sive heaviness. "Why in thunder didn't you let 
 it go?" 
 
 "But, my dear brother, you can't have a rice 
 pudding without milk." 
 
 "Have another dessert, then have fruit - 
 anything." 
 
 "But I had said we would have rice pudding. 
 If you knew more about housekeeping, Caspar, 
 you wouldn't always be finding fault with me." 
 
 64
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 And Miss Myrtle gathered her wrapper about her 
 with plaintive dignity. He shook his head in 
 good-humoured protest. 
 
 "And you had said you would overhaul the 
 attic so you did, with the thermometer at 
 ninety-eight! Ah, Myrtle, if you had only been 
 ten years younger than I instead of ten years older, 
 I might have done something with you. See here; 
 wouldn't you be happier if I got someone else in 
 to do the housekeeping?" 
 
 She stopped tragically. "Caspar Diman! 
 Have you another case up your sleeve? " 
 
 He laughed. "No, on my honour, not one at 
 the present moment." She went on towards the 
 kitchen with a sigh of tempered relief. 
 
 "Nice housekeeper you'd bring home fits or 
 melancholia," she muttered. "By the way, what 
 is Ann Blossom doing up so late?" she added. 
 "I saw a light under her door." 
 
 "You did?" Caspar was frowningly con- 
 cerned. Then he threw his pamphlet sharply 
 down on the table. "No, Myrtle, I am towing 
 home no more derelicts this week," he assured 
 her, with grim emphasis.
 
 Ill 
 
 DR. DIMAN let himself in and, with his hat still 
 clinging to the extreme back of his head, picked 
 up the pad on which telephone messages were 
 written. The writing seemed to take more of 
 his attention than the messages themselves. 
 After a thoughtful moment, he gave a whistled 
 call. It was eagerly answered, and Ann Blossom 
 appeared at the head of the stairs. 
 
 "Hello!" she welcomed him. 
 
 "See here, Ann Blossom!" He held up the 
 pad with affectionate severity. "How does it 
 happen that I am always finding your writing on 
 this instead of Miss Joyce's?" 
 
 "Oh, well, when I am going to be right here, 
 anyway, I might as well answer it," she explained, 
 coming down in little jumps, her weight resting 
 on the banister. "It is nearly always my sug- 
 gestion." 
 
 "Yes; but for you to be 'right here anyway' is 
 exactly what I don't want. You are supposed to 
 be out of doors every spare moment, while Miss 
 Joyce's health can stand any amount of where 
 is she now?" 
 
 66
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "I think she is playing tennis with Ernest;" 
 Ann spoke brightly, though her eyes did not 
 meet his. 
 
 "Oh, she is! Well, take yourself out of doors, 
 young woman, and on the way tell her that I 
 want her." 
 
 Ann hesitated, a faint red showing through her 
 transparent skin. She took breath nervously to 
 speak, but he had turned to Cassandra's desk 
 and was inspecting her untouched work with a 
 gravity that made him seem a person to be obeyed 
 without protest. Perhaps, too, Ann was not 
 wholly reluctant, though her hands were tremu- 
 lous as she opened the glass doors. The doctor 
 had not been so unconscious of her mood as he 
 seemed: he looked after her with a sharp breath 
 of perplexity as he threw aside his hat and ran 
 his fingers up into his rough hair. He was lean- 
 ing against the desk with arms folded across his 
 chest, waiting in rather awful tranquillity, when 
 Cassandra came in. 
 
 She looked very handsome in her white tennis 
 shirt, open at the throat. Her heavy, bright 
 brown hair was always perfectly in place; only 
 the flush in her cheeks showed that she had been 
 exercising. Her glance was imperious. 
 
 "You wanted me?" The question subtly 
 conveyed a well-bred surprise at the summons. 
 
 67
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Yes, I did." He paused, deliberating just 
 where he should begin, but Cassandra, furious 
 at the quickened beat of her own heart, refused 
 to wait. 
 
 "Well, what have I done?" she asked with 
 all the insolence she could command. 
 
 "I can't see that you have done much of any- 
 thing, this morning," was the quiet answer. She 
 came down a little. 
 
 "J expected to write those letters after lunch," 
 she condescended to explain. "I did not know 
 there was any hurry." 
 
 "And was there nothing else to be done? I 
 thought we had discussed several ways in which 
 you could be of use." If he had spoken impa- 
 tiently, it would have been easier to face him; 
 but he was as calm as he was inexorable. She 
 dropped into a chair, occupying herself with a 
 palm-leaf fan. 
 
 "I did offer to read to Miss Snell, but she re- 
 fused very rudely." 
 
 "I should rather like to know in what terms 
 you made the offer." 
 
 "Certainly." Her eyes flashed. "I said, 'I 
 will read to you if you will take something decently 
 entertaining and won't rock.' I simply cannot 
 stand the way she rocks and keeps one foot 
 going." 
 
 68
 
 "Is that the extent of your morning's work?" 
 
 "No: I rearranged the flowers, and Miss 
 Myrtle nearly bit my head off. It seems she 
 prefers geraniums and petunias in the same vase. 
 Then I gave up and played tennis." 
 
 "And didn't that worry you at all?" 
 
 "Why?" Her surprise was genuine. 
 
 "Has nothing worried you in the five weeks 
 you have been here?" he persisted. 
 
 "I don't understand!" 
 
 "Has it never occurred to you that if you are 
 paid thirty dollars a month, you must earn a 
 dollar a day? You are here as an employee on 
 a salary: can you be comfortable if you are. not 
 at least trying to earn it?" 
 
 The blood rushed into her face. "Well, I 
 must say !" burst from her. 
 
 "No, you must not," he cut in with an inci- 
 siveness that checked her. "The time has come 
 when I must say. I have waited, hoping that 
 you would see for yourself, but you do less every 
 day. You owe me your time and your real 
 efforts just as surely as I owe you thirty dollars 
 a month. Your hothouse life is left behind you: 
 you are in the business world now, and you must 
 obey its laws or go under. And the first law is 
 that you deliver the goods if you are paid for 
 services, you give them." 
 
 69
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 She rose, white and trembling. "Please under- 
 stand that I have handed in my resignation," she 
 said in a choked voice, turning to go. 
 
 "No: I will understand nothing of the sort." 
 He did not move, but his voice arrested her. 
 "You are too good to be wasted, Cassandra 
 Joyce. I feel it every day your brains and 
 practical ability, your honesty, your fearlessness. 
 Learn to work, and you can be anything you 
 will. No, I refuse to give you up." 
 
 She threw herself into a chair with her face 
 hidden against the back. "Oh, I want to go, I 
 want to go," she cried. The ready compassion 
 sprang into his eyes. 
 
 "But, my dear girl, where can you go without 
 money?" he asked in a wholly different tone. 
 She raised her head with a flash of renewed 
 anger. 
 
 "I can have millions any moment, simply by 
 lifting my finger." 
 
 "But where how?" 
 
 "By marriage." 
 
 His silence lasted so long that she stole a look 
 at him, vaguely frightened. He was staring at 
 the floor as though he had forgotten her, but at 
 her movement he let his folded arms drop and 
 came over to her with a rather tired smile. 
 
 "Well, if it is someone you care for, that is of 
 70
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 course the simplest way out of it," he said. "Will 
 you tell me about him?" 
 
 She lay back passively, her eyes half closed. 
 "There is very little to tell. His name is Burnett 
 - George Burnett. He is over forty, a business 
 man leather, I believe : he is enormously rich. 
 I knew him in Paris and he crossed when I 
 did." 
 
 "And you think that you " the doctor hes- 
 itated. 
 
 "The chief objection is that he is not a gentle- 
 man," she went on indifferently. 
 
 "Do you mean that he lacks social knowl- 
 edge?" 
 
 "Oh, no he is not a rough diamond. He 
 is rather coarse, that is all. Not more so than 
 some aristocrats I have known, but, unfortu- 
 nately, his coarseness is the wrong kind. More- 
 over, his past life has been anything but 
 edifying, and I doubt my powers as a reformer. 
 So, you see, I have hesitated." 
 
 His answer was an odd one, coming from him. 
 "Couldn't you do any better?" he asked. There 
 was relief as well as surprise in her quick glance. 
 Evidently she had not dreamed of being met so 
 understandingly. 
 
 "Of course I could have, three years ago," 
 she said with less of defiance in her frankness. 
 
 71
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "But I was a young fool. There have been men 
 since, too but I was still a fool. It did not 
 occur to me that I might have to compromise. 
 I have always supposed that I was born to the 
 best of everything," she added, with bitter self- 
 derision. 
 
 "Of course, I don't know;" Caspar spoke 
 mildly, reasonably; "but I should suppose that 
 earning millions that way would be a long sight 
 worse than earning next to nothing this way." 
 
 "Perhaps I can't say. I haven't decided. 
 Now is there anything else I am to be scolded 
 for?" And she smiled with restored imperti- 
 nence. 
 
 "Yes, several things;" but it was the man, not 
 the employer, who had answered her smile. "I 
 think we will save them for another day, how- 
 ever." 
 
 "You had better do it while I am in a chas- 
 tened mood," she advised. "I might not be so 
 meek, next time." 
 
 He laughed at the term "meek" in connection 
 with Cassandra Joyce, laughed with deeply 
 appreciative enjoyment. 
 
 "I can't attack you when you invite it like this; 
 it is too unnatural," he protested. 
 
 "Then I may consider myself forgiven, for 
 this once?" And she looked up at him with 
 
 72
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 open consciousness of power, power over man. 
 That mysterious ascendency known as the upper 
 hand was suddenly hers. 
 
 "Ah, you will always be forgiven, I am afraid," 
 he was beginning impulsively, when Ann's voice, 
 suddenly restored to its note of joyousness, 
 sounded from the garden, breaking the spell 
 that had held their eyes. He turned to his office, 
 his face clouding. "Unless you make my Ann 
 Blossom unhappy," he added in a low tone as he 
 shut the door between them. 
 
 She sat with downcast eyes and idle hands for 
 a long time, held by that last warning. What had 
 he meant about making Ann Blossom unhappy 
 "my Ann Blossom"? She turned irritably 
 from the phrase, but it clung to her like a thorn, 
 wounding and enraging. His Ann Blossom! 
 His if he wanted her, obviously; but how could 
 he dream of so throwing himself away? Was he 
 begging her not to come between them? The 
 idea startled her, then she laughed contemptu- 
 ously at herself. It would be so like him, man 
 of indomitable strength, to beg quarter from 
 her, the least of his derelicts. His Ann Blossom ? 
 Very well, then : so be it. And she bent doggedly 
 to her work. 
 
 When the doctor had expostulated with her, 
 five weeks before, all his warmth and gentleness 
 
 73
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 could not allay her angry resentment; she had 
 been fiercely ready to punish him for the reproof 
 ever since. To-oay's lecture, curiously enough, 
 sharp and unsympathetic as it was, left no bitter- 
 ness. He had said things that gave her every 
 excuse for resentment, yet all her desire to strike 
 back was inexplicably gone. She felt only heavy- 
 hearted and bewildered, strangely humble be- 
 fore his disapprobation. In truth, she had never 
 in her life come so near deserving the term " meek" 
 as on that long summer day when she sat trying 
 to do her work well and to forget his baffling plea 
 for "his" Ann Blossom. 
 
 Caspar did not come home to dinner, and in 
 the warm twilight afterwards Ann frankly posted 
 herself on the front steps to watch for him. 
 Cassandra tried to keep aloof, but she presently 
 followed, seating herself on the dusty old balus- 
 trade with an indifference to her white skirt that 
 made Ann protest. Ann's face, which had lately 
 carried a secret shadow, was whole-heartedly gay 
 to-night. 
 
 "I finished your set for you this morning, and 
 lost every single point," she said with a laugh, 
 turning from Ernest, who had been absently hos- 
 ing one unlucky clematis for the past ten min- 
 utes. "He says I am the worst beginner he ever 
 saw!" Ernest, discovering the lake about his 
 
 74
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 feet, placidly transferred the water to a more 
 distant vine. 
 
 "Well, you see, the balls are so round and 
 white and little, Miss Blossom can't bear to hit 
 them," he explained, smiling up at Ann, whose 
 laughter ran over at the idea. 
 
 "I try hard enough, but the bad little things 
 dodge me," she complained. "Some people are 
 born to do things well and some aren't. I should 
 know that you played good tennis, Miss Joyce, 
 if I only passed you on the street, and you'd 
 know that I wouldn't." 
 
 "You mean that you would know that as a 
 corollary to some more general knowledge," 
 Ernest interposed. "You can state it more 
 broadly put it in terms of character." Ann's 
 glance rested indulgently, yet with a glimmer of 
 mischief, on the alert young schoolmaster. 
 
 "And, passing you, Ernest," she went on delib- 
 erately, "I should know in an instant that if you 
 saw a chance for an argument or a definition, you 
 would inevitably aim the hose straight through 
 the cellar window." 
 
 Ernest jerked the stream of water to a new 
 angle with a rueful laugh. "Thank goodness 
 Miss Myrtle didn't see that," he was beginning, 
 when that lady appeared at the open front door 
 behind them. She was sniffing anxiously. 
 
 75
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Where do you suppose alJ the smoke is com- 
 ing from?" she asked. 
 
 They noticed then that the haze had taken on 
 a yellowish tinge, and that there was an ominous 
 fragrance of distant burning in the air. Ann ran 
 up to the top of the house, and reported dense 
 smoke far across the town. 
 
 "Oh, dear, I am afraid it is some big fire," she 
 exclaimed, her eyes widened for the distress that 
 that meant. 
 
 "And I suppose Caspar has gone to it," sighed 
 Miss Myrtle. "Why he has to mix himself up 
 in everything that happens !" 
 
 "But what good could he do at a fire?" Cas- 
 sandra asked, a quick note of protest in her 
 voice. Ann's thin hands were tightly clasped. 
 
 "Oh, I wish he would come home!" she said, 
 a catch of fright in her voice. Cassandra turned 
 from her impatiently; the girl seemed to think 
 she had the exclusive right to be anxious. 
 
 "I don't see what could happen to him," she 
 said, with a perverse denial of her own secret 
 uneasiness. Ann did not heed, but Miss Myrtle 
 explained how many coats he had ruined and 
 hats he had lost, "plunging into things." She 
 was still plaintively scolding when a carriage 
 drew up at the gate and Dr. Diman jumped out. 
 
 Ann sprang up with a little note of joy, but 
 76
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 stopped where she was, startled and puzzled, 
 for the carriage had begun to disgorge. Through 
 the half darkness they saw seven small white 
 objects flop down, one after another, then the 
 carriage departed and Caspar turned in at 
 the gate, followed by a curious procession. The 
 group on the steps stared in breathless silence as 
 the white objects filing up the path gradually 
 defined themselves as seven little boys in their 
 nightshirts. They were all about the same size, 
 with bare feet and closely cropped heads; two or 
 three carried small treasures clasped in their 
 arms, and all were big-eyed with excitement. 
 
 "What on earth!" stuttered Miss Myrtle. Cas- 
 par, made aware of the staring group, hesitated 
 before them, the procession lining up behind him ; 
 for the first time in his life, he faced his sister 
 with a faint cringe of propitiation. 
 
 "I couldn't help it, Myrtle," he apologized. 
 "The orphan asylum has burned up!" 
 
 The nightgowned seven repeated his upward 
 look of anxious apology. Before Miss Myrtle 
 could draw breath enough for speech, the solem- 
 nity of the moment was shattered by a gasp of 
 laughter from Cassandra. Caspar, abruptly re- 
 minded of his aspect at the head of his little band, 
 gave them a startled glance: the corners of his 
 mouth twitched helplessly for an instant, then 
 
 77
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 he threw back his head and frankly shouted. 
 The others echoed him; even the seven, realizing 
 their costume, broke into seven shrill giggles. 
 Only Miss Myrtle stood heavily silent. 
 
 "I don't see anything to laugh at," she re- 
 marked. 
 
 Caspar pulled himself back to sobriety as Ann 
 went on her knees by the children, gathering 
 them into her arms with eager questions, feeling 
 their hands to see if they were cold. 
 
 "It is only for to-night, Myrtle," he explained. 
 "Other asylums will take them all over by to- 
 morrow, but to-night they have to be farmed out 
 everywhere. We can put up cots in my office, 
 and the sitting-room couches will hold two 
 or three. Get some linen, there's a good soul. 
 They are tired kids." And he rubbed his hand 
 affectionately over the tow head at his side. 
 
 "It will make a dreadful wash for this week," 
 sighed Miss Myrtle; but she went. 
 
 Ann was deputed to carry the children off to 
 her room and get them as quieted as possible 
 while their beds were prepared; and Caspar 
 paused to direct Cassandra's eyes to the picture 
 she made on the broad curve of the stairs, mother- 
 ing all seven with her extended hands and smiling 
 eyes. 
 
 "Very pretty," said Cassandra, dryly. "I 
 78
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 don't care for children, myself," she added. If 
 she courted disapprobation, she was disappointed; 
 the note of defiance was too naively clear. He 
 met it as he might have met a piece of naughti- 
 ness from one of the orphans up-stairs; that is to 
 say, he smiled at her with his measureless and 
 unbounded comprehension and set her to work. 
 Together they cleared space for the cots Ernest 
 was getting down from the attic, and Cassandra, 
 after a moment of seething resentment, dropped 
 suddenly to humble gratitude that he was not 
 chilled towards her. She made up the little beds 
 under his directions with apologetic zeal. 
 
 Caspar hesitated over the living-room couches. 
 "I don't know about putting them here. Per- 
 haps I'd better give them my room," he reflected. 
 "You see, the poor little shrimps will have to 
 stay in bed until I can buy them new clothes, 
 and the shops won't be open before eight." 
 
 "You don't want to buy them clothes." Cas- 
 sandra always spoke with authority on a practical 
 issue. "People will give you all you need, and 
 
 "But collecting them would take half the morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "Do it now it isn't late. Get your carriage 
 and drive to all the people you know who have 
 little boys. You can collect plenty for them to 
 
 79
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 begin on." He looked at his watch, then nodded 
 at her approvingly. 
 
 "That is a good scheme. I'll do it." He 
 turned away to order the horse, but at the door 
 he paused and glanced back. "Will you go with 
 me?" 
 
 "Yes, gladly;" she spoke indifferently, ashamed 
 that she should be so glad. "He would have 
 taken his Ann Blossom if it weren't for the chil- 
 dren," she reminded herself as she shook the last 
 pillow into its case. 
 
 Fifteen minutes later they started, leaving Ann 
 to tuck up the orphans. Caspar, helping his 
 assistant into the buggy, looked with apprecia- 
 tion at the fresh white coat she had put on. 
 
 "What pretty things women have to wear," 
 he commented. 
 
 "Yes, aren't they nice;" and she glanced down 
 at her glimmering whiteness with frank enjoy- 
 ment. He pulled up at the gate and, leaning 
 down from the buggy, cut off a sturdy little yellow 
 rose that was thrusting towards them from the 
 clustered darkness of the shrubbery. 
 
 "There is a decoration for you," he said, lay- 
 ing it on her knee, and looked at her with satis- 
 faction when it was fastened to her coat. "I 
 sometimes think that I am too careless about 
 appearances," he confided, as though the idea 
 
 80
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 would be a wholly new one to her. Her glance 
 at his shapeless old serge coat was malicious. 
 
 "Really?" she murmured. It was not too 
 dark for him to see the derision of her lifted eye- 
 brows, and he laughed out at himself. 
 
 "Am I such a very awful sight?" he asked. 
 "Tell me the truth." 
 
 She left the question suspended to comment, 
 lazily, "Did you ever know me to tell anything 
 but the truth?" 
 
 "No. Oh, no, you wouldn't lie; you've got 
 too much moral impudence." They both laughed 
 at that. "Well, then, answer my question: is 
 my appearance too shocking?" 
 
 "It is," said Cassandra. He sighed. 
 
 "Myrtle always says so, but she says so many 
 things I hoped it wasn 't so bad as all that. 
 Well, some day I will pick up a broken-down 
 valet in need of a job, and then you will see a 
 reform." 
 
 "Would you use a valet?" she demanded in 
 surprise. 
 
 "Would I hire someone to do necessary work 
 that I had no time for myself ? Certainly. Why 
 not?" 
 
 "I don't know." She was obviously pleased. 
 "I supposed you had a democratic scorn of valets 
 and maids and all such pomps and vanities." 
 
 81
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "So I have, as pomps. I don't like display 
 and I don't like personal laziness. But as a 
 legitimate short cut if a maid would leave you 
 free to do things better worth while than brushing 
 your clothes, then have one, by all means." 
 
 "Thanks, I will," said Cassandra, as he stopped 
 the horse in front of a large, pleasant house sug- 
 gestive of many children, and handed her the reins. 
 
 "Let me see; six and seven year sizes?" he 
 reflected. 
 
 "Anything between five and eight would fit 
 somebody, I should think." 
 
 "And we want anything they can spare?" 
 
 "Anything we can get." 
 
 He turned away with a laugh. "I always 
 knew you had business ability," he commented. 
 
 He was gone fifteen or twenty minutes, but 
 Cassandra lay back contentedly, watching the 
 stealing whiteness of the rising moon on lawn 
 and shrub and the soft blackening of the maple 
 shadows down the quiet street. The bitterness of 
 the morning seemed as remote as her life in Paris. 
 All the clamouring questions of her daily impa- 
 tience for once were stilled; she was satisfied to 
 study leaf patterns and to smell the little rose on 
 her coat. 
 
 Caspar came back rejoicing in a huge bundle. 
 Two more raids in the next block brought further 
 
 82
 
 contributions. After some hesitation, they turned 
 in at the gates of a big place, girt with elms, 
 then, finding the house dark, they drove quietly 
 out again, feeling rather furtive. The next two 
 ventures proved so successful that Caspar de- 
 cided they had enough to begin on. He was in 
 boyishly high spirits as they drove home with 
 their brimming cargo. 
 
 "The orphans will be well dressed, even if I 
 am not," he commented. 
 
 "There is a light in that house; perhaps we 
 could pick up a suit for you there," she suggested. 
 He looked alarmed. 
 
 "You don't mean to say that I have really got 
 to reform? I thought we could simply laugh 
 about it and let it go at that." 
 
 "Well if you will agree to treat my delin- 
 quencies that way." 
 
 He laughed. "I will make no unholy bargains 
 with you. Why does it matter, anyway?" he 
 added. 
 
 "Because it does," said Cassandra, with youth- 
 ful finality. 
 
 "Do you mean that it comes between me and 
 other people? so that, instead of listening to 
 my words of wisdom, they are thinking, 'Good 
 Heavens, why doesn't the man get his coat 
 pressed!' - ^ is that it?" 
 
 83
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 She hesitated. "Your Ann Blossom would 
 not think so," she was impelled to say, her tone 
 faintly derisive. If she hoped to dare him with 
 impunity, she was disappointed; the very angle 
 of his shoulders expressed a subtle withdrawal. 
 
 "Ah, there are few natures like my Ann Blos- 
 som," was the cool answer. "I meant with the 
 average, superficial person, who can not see 
 much below the surface." 
 
 "Like me," assented Cassandra, scorning to 
 ignore her punishment. "Really, I can't say. 
 Nothing here matters very much to me, one 
 way or the other." 
 
 "I am sorry for that," he said, with unfeeling 
 cheerfulness, as they turned in at the gate. 
 
 A night light that had been left between the 
 living-room and the office showed the seven little 
 sleepers lying in deep-breathing peace. Caspar 
 laughed silently at the picture. 
 
 "Looks like a battlefield," he murmured, as 
 he pulled the covers over straying legs and arms. 
 "Have you noticed this angelic little Deutscher?" 
 He had paused by the big couch where two were 
 tucked up, and she obeyed his tacit command 
 to come and look. The upturned face, guilelessly 
 broad for its length, was a soft, even pink from 
 the throat to the thicket of tow hair, and lavishly 
 set for dimples. Blond eyelashes turned up in 
 
 8 4
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 appealing little ducktails from his tightly shut 
 eyelids; his widely curving lips had the smile 
 of cherubim. The boy beside him, though little 
 older, had left babyhood so far behind that one 
 must doubt if he had ever experienced it: the 
 thin, dun face, open-mouthed, could make only a 
 sociological appeal. But the little Deutscher had 
 all the charm of puppyhood in his innocent curves. 
 "He says his name is Villum. He has been in 
 the asylum only a few weeks; he had a mother 
 until then, he told me." 
 
 "I daresay some asylums are better than some 
 mothers," observed Cassandra, suspecting an 
 attack on her sympathies and instantly defensive. 
 
 "I don't doubt it." If an attack had been 
 intended, it was abandoned with perfect cheer- 
 fulness. "Would you mind leaving your door 
 open?" he added as they went up-stairs. "I 
 should probably hear any disturbance, but if I 
 did not, you could call me." 
 
 She assented with a readiness tinged with 
 penitence. "I didn't mean to be snubby," she 
 told herself uncomfortably, after he had gone. 
 "Or, at least, I meant to be, but I wish I hadn't," 
 she added with a faint sigh. 
 
 She was a long time getting to sleep. The 
 night was warm, and that peaceful hour of escape 
 from her troubled self made the return doubly 
 
 85
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 exasperating. All the small struggles of the past 
 weeks came back to haunt her. 
 
 "I hate it, I hate it," she cried to herself, fling- 
 ing her restless arms wide for coolness. The 
 stinging rebuke of the morning was, strangely 
 enough, the only source of comfort. She clung 
 with inexplicable satisfaction to the memory of 
 Caspar's uncompromising words, the inflexible 
 sternness of him as he faced her over his folded 
 arms. It was only when he spoke of "his" Ann 
 Blossom that he offended and humiliated her. 
 That he should so blindly exalt a crude, ignorant 
 young girl! 
 
 She slept at last, but so lightly that only a very 
 faint sound was needed to rouse her. As she 
 listened with lifted head and eyes instantly wide 
 awake, the sound located itself in the big room 
 below, and proved to be a smothered, disjointed 
 sobbing. Throwing on a dressing-gown, she 
 went swiftly to the stairs and listened again. 
 The night light showed the newest orphan with 
 burrowing face and shaken shoulders. 
 
 Cassandra's first impulse was to call the doctor ; 
 but she went reluctantly down instead and stood 
 beside the couch, looking uncomfortably at the 
 little heaving back. 
 
 "What is the matter, child?" she demanded. 
 
 An incoherent mutter about fire and big engines 
 86
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 and my mother came from the pillow where 
 Villum, face down, writhed between sleep and 
 terror. Cassandra, feeling oddly helpless and 
 embarrassed, turned him over in the hope that 
 a chance to breathe might prove soothing. 
 
 "You are all right," she assured him. "The 
 fire is out. Now go to sleep like a good boy." 
 
 Villum's pale blue eyes, pathetically drowned, 
 stared wildly about him; his hands fastened in a 
 hot grasp on her kimono and the sobs increased. 
 She sat down beside him with a sigh of perplexity. 
 
 "Hush, hush!" she exclaimed. "You will 
 wake the other little boys. You don't want to 
 do that, do you?" Her nearness was perhaps 
 more soothing than her argument. Villum, sub- 
 siding into quivering sighs, gasped out a desire 
 for a "trink of water." Greatly relieved by this 
 practical suggestion, Cassandra hurried off, taking 
 the light with her. It did not occur to her that 
 this might produce fresh disaster until a rising 
 wail penetrated to the pantry. She flew back, 
 the glass dripping water on her slippers. 
 
 "Child, child!" she implored. "There is 
 nothing to cry about. Do be reasonable!" She 
 was too intent to notice a figure that had paused 
 abruptly at the stair head on her entrance, and 
 now shrank back soundlessly into the darkness of 
 the upper hall. "Here is your water," she went 
 
 87 '
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 on, as the wail dropped to hiccoughing reassur- 
 ance. Villum grasped the glass in two strain- 
 ing hands with fingers hooked desperately over 
 the top and bent his face to it, but looked 
 up a moment later with the plaintive informa- 
 tion, 
 
 "It iss running my bed all over!" It undeni- 
 ably was. She righted the glass with a weary, 
 "Oh, dear!" and caught away the wet sheet 
 before it could touch his nightgown. 
 
 "Now if I go up-stairs to get another sheet, 
 will you promise not to howl again?" she asked. 
 The broad, pink face was instantly creased into 
 weeping lines; the blue eyes filled. 
 
 "I do not want that you leave me;" the voice 
 was sorrowful rather than whimpering; a little 
 hand closed tightly on her loose sleeve. The 
 lurking figure at the head of the stairs might have 
 come to her rescue, but he only shrank back still 
 farther in the upper darkness, his eyes deeply, 
 warmly amused, and began a furtive retreat. 
 "I want that you take me on your lap," continued 
 Villum, his head tipped back as though he knew 
 that a whole view of his angelic countenance was 
 his best plea. In spite of herself, she relented a 
 little. 
 
 "You are a nuisance," she protested, but she 
 gave up her wavering intention of summoning 
 
 88
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 help. Dr. Diman was tired with his long day's 
 work; it would not be fair to rouse him for this 
 small dilemma. She might, of course, turn to 
 Ann Blossom, who would know exactly what to 
 do, but the suggestion resulted only in a sharply 
 offended motion of her eyebrows. "Ann Blos- 
 som, indeed!" it expressed. 
 
 She had rolled back the wet corner of the sheet, 
 and she replaced it now with a light shawl, won- 
 dering at the power of sleep manifested by the 
 other six. Then she drew up a chair beside the 
 couch. 
 
 "Now, if you will lie still and shut your eyes, I 
 will tell you a story," she offered. Villum ac- 
 cepted the program, wriggling nearer to her and 
 screwing his yellow eyelashes together. She told 
 him a long tale with a monotonous refrain about 
 "a rag and a tag and a long leather bag," remem- 
 bered hazily from her own childhood, and he 
 listened with a stillness so promising that she let 
 her voice die away by degrees to silence and began 
 cautiously to rise. Instantly two light blue slits 
 gleamed between the parting eyelids. 
 
 "Tell it again," Villum commanded. His 
 voice was drowsy, so she went hopefully through 
 the droning rigmarole once more, growing des- 
 perately sleepy herself under its hypnotic repeti- 
 tions. This attempt was apparently successful, 
 
 89
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 and she had stolen as far as the foot of the stairs 
 when a wail broke forth. 
 
 "I do not want that you go away," wept Villum. 
 
 "Oh, botheration!" she muttered. Then she 
 stood hesitating before a possible solution. "Will 
 you be good if I take you up into my bed?" she 
 asked reluctantly. 
 
 His little feet instantly sought the floor, and he 
 lifted a confiding hand to hers. So they went up 
 the stairs together, and she could have laughed at 
 the situation, had she not been so sleepy and so 
 irritated. 
 
 She placed the child as far from her as possible 
 in the wide bed, shrinking from any contact, and 
 he fell asleep with magical instantaneousness, 
 lying so still that she presently drifted off herself. 
 She slept heavily this time, so heavily that she 
 was not aroused when a soft little body curled up 
 against her with a long breath of content. When 
 she awoke in the early morning she was startled 
 to find a tow head burrowed comfortably into her 
 shoulder and a knee planted on her chest. She 
 shrank hastily away. 
 
 "Thank goodness, they are going to-day," she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 The house was still silent, so, lifting Villum with 
 stealthy caution, she carried him back to his 
 proper place, indefinably reluctant that her har- 
 
 90
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 bouring of him should be known. The helpless 
 dead weight in her arms, the broad, upturned 
 face, roused a pang of compunction, a momentary 
 shame for her own withholding. She kissed him 
 lightly as she laid him down. 
 
 "You are a nice baby," she admitted with a 
 sigh. 
 
 Evidently Ann engineered seven baths that 
 morning, for sounds of revelry and splashing 
 began soon afterwards, interrupted at intervals 
 by an imploring, 
 
 "Oh, darlings, there is a sick lady up-stairs 
 we really must be quieter!" With a frown of 
 annoyance, Cassandra heard a definite little voice 
 in the hall announce. 
 
 "I want mine own lady to bath me." Ann 
 tried in vain to find out who his own lady was. 
 "Mine own lady what tells me of the rag and the 
 tag," was all she could elicit. 
 
 "That lady isn't here, dear," Ann assured him, 
 and he finally consented to be bathed by her. 
 
 Cassandra did not appear until the clinking of 
 bowls and glasses told that breakfast was in prog- 
 ress. The rooms had been restored to order, 
 and the seven, variously but completely clothed, 
 were seated about a table while Ann served them 
 and Caspar looked on. Ann glanced up with a 
 welcoming smile.
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "I am afraid you haven't slept much this 
 morning, Miss Joyce," she apologized. Before 
 Cassandra could answer, there was a note of 
 joy from Villum. Sliding down from the diction- 
 ary that elevated him to the table, he ran across 
 to her and took her skirts into a frank em- 
 brace. 
 
 "Here iss mine own lady!" he shouted. Cas- 
 sandra flushed a little. 
 
 " Hello, Villum," she said coolly, and passed 
 on with no further greeting than a slight touch 
 on the tow head. 
 
 "What does he mean?" Ann wondered. 
 
 "He means that he kept me awake half the 
 night," Cassandra explained rather shortly, turn- 
 ing to the dining-room where Miss Myrtle was 
 gloomily adhering to the principle that breakfast 
 must be served at its appointed time, even if no 
 one was present to eat it. 
 
 Ann carried the children off to a remote part of 
 the garden for the morning, but Cassandra had 
 not been at work long when a sound of little boots 
 and hurried breathing made her look up. Vil- 
 lum, pinker than ever from his throat to his tow 
 hair, was beaming up at her, an interesting col- 
 lection of sticks and stones tightly clasped in his 
 arms. 
 
 "I will stay with you," he announced, dropping 
 92
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 the load beside her chair. Reluctantly amused, 
 she represented to him that he would have more 
 fun with the other children, that he would have 
 to be quiet here. Villum was already seated on 
 the floor with a brief leg on either side of his 
 treasures. 
 
 "I will be quiet, and by and by you will tell me 
 about the rag and the tag," he asserted. So she 
 turned back to her work, ignoring the silent little 
 presence. Ann came presently in search of him, 
 but his serene, "I will stay here," seemed to admit 
 of no argument. Cassandra felt a prick of satis- 
 faction that he would not leave her for Ann Blos- 
 som, though she offered his constancy no reward. 
 He was still contentedly playing there when Cas- 
 par came in. 
 
 "Hello, Villum. Why aren't you with the 
 others?" he demanded. Villum did not even 
 look up from his building operations. 
 
 "I stay with mine own lady," was the tranquil 
 answer. The doctor glanced mischievously at 
 Cassandra, but her severe profile did not invite 
 comment, so he merely announced that an omni- 
 bus was on its way to gather up the children. 
 They were to be taken care of by the Sacred Heart 
 Orphanage. 
 
 "Would you mind telling Ann?" he added, as 
 the telephone summoned him. 
 
 93
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Cassandra went down into the garden with the 
 message and lingered there, thinking to spare 
 Villum the pang of parting. He had not seemed 
 to heed the order for departure, but she had a 
 suspicion that the moment of separation might 
 prove overwhelming, if she were present. Poor 
 little Deutscher! He had been rather touching 
 that morning, amusing himself so contentedly 
 beside her chair. She wished now that she had 
 stopped for one more telling of the rag and the 
 tag. It was with an honest hope that the excit- 
 ing prospect of a drive behind horses would 
 distract his mind that she hid herself in the 
 garden. 
 
 A tree full of bright summer apples offered 
 refreshment, and she swung herself up into its 
 low branches. Even as she made her selection, 
 Ann came running down the path. 
 
 "Miss Joyce, Villum wants to say good-by to 
 you. The omnibus is waiting." She spoke with 
 a hint of reproach, which Cassandra instantly 
 resented. 
 
 "Say it for me. You are much better at 
 such things than I," she returned lazily, biting 
 into her apple. Ann was perhaps over-tired. 
 
 "But he is crying I" she exclaimed hotly. Cas- 
 sandra picked an apple and tossed it down. 
 
 "Take him that," she said. 
 94
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 The apple lay where it fell, and Ann left her 
 without a word, though her face burned. True 
 enough, through the summer stillness came 
 a prolonged wail. Even after the horses had 
 started it still sounded, rising above the rattle of 
 the vehicle as it came nearer down the road that 
 bordered the long garden. Cassandra tried for 
 a moment to ignore it; then she seized a couple 
 of apples and, slipping down from the tree, ran 
 to a remote corner of the grounds where a gate 
 opened on the steet. She was just in time to stop 
 the omnibus. 
 
 "Villum!" she called, jumping up on the step. 
 A moist, creased face was lifted from the black 
 knees of the guardian sister; two swimming blue 
 eyes echoed waveringly a smile of utter relief. 
 Cassandra glanced apology at the sister, and 
 took him into her arms. 
 
 "Now listen, Villum," she said earnestly; 
 "if you will stop crying and be a good boy, I 
 will come to see you to-morrow. I promise 
 it." 
 
 "And tell about the rag and the tag?" he 
 quavered. 
 
 "Yes, I will tell it three times." And she 
 kissed him with tightening arms, then put the 
 apples into his hands and jumped down to wave 
 him out of sight. And at that very moment 
 
 95
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Ann Blossom, flushed and over-tired, was ex- 
 claiming with tears in her eyes, 
 
 "She hasn't any heart I don't care, she 
 hasn't! To let him go off crying!" 
 
 "Perhaps she only hasn't found it, Ann dear," 
 Caspar answered; but his face was troubled.
 
 IV 
 
 CASSANDRA would have gone to a romantic 
 tryst far less secretly than she slipped off for her 
 visit to Villum the next afternoon. A faint shadow 
 of disapproval lay between her and those who 
 had witnessed the small boy's tragic departure, 
 and not for worlds would she have put forth a 
 finger to clear it away. She telephoned from a 
 neighbouring drug store to find out the asylum's 
 visiting hours, and went out by way of the 
 kitchen when her day's work was over. 
 
 Villum received her with touching rapture. 
 No doubt something in her face or voice had for 
 him a hazy suggestion of the mother he had lost 
 so recently: his absolute acceptance of her from 
 the first had seemed to imply an old bond between 
 them. She stayed an hour with him in the bare, 
 sunny dormitory, his little chair drawn up close 
 beside hers, the Teddy bear she had brought him 
 clasped in a devouring embrace. Their con- 
 versation was not exciting. If her questions were 
 very simple, he answered them; otherwise, they 
 were placidly ignored, or disposed of with a wide, 
 
 97
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 upward smile. By no stretch of affection could 
 Villum be described as clever. 
 
 "How about the rag and the tag?" she sug- 
 gested finally. 
 
 He rose at once and climbed into her lap as 
 though that were an inevitable preliminary, set- 
 tling himself with an assurance there was no 
 resisting. The unconscious lordliness with which 
 he butted her into the desired shape with head 
 and shoulder was rather taking: she adapted 
 herself to his needs with amused meekness, letting 
 her arms close lightly about him, a'nd was sorry 
 when the children came trooping in to end their 
 visit. An atmosphere of wholly loving admira- 
 tion was a new and soothing experience. 
 
 She went again and again in the days that 
 followed, telling herself impatiently that one must 
 have some object for a walk. The busy sisters 
 paid little attention to her, but, as a member of 
 Dr. Diman's household, she found herself tacitly 
 exempted from the rules that bound other visitors. 
 Evidently his name was a power even here. She 
 no longer departed by stealth, but no one ques- 
 tioned her movements. Presently she came to 
 wish that Dr. Diman would find her out, and so 
 perhaps be impelled to discover a solution for 
 Villum's life. Thought of it troubled her in- 
 creasingly. The impersonal motherhood of an 
 
 98
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 asylum seemed a dreary fate for one so obviously 
 born to affection; and what of his future? These 
 new problems drove her to an abrupt question, 
 one night when chance had left her alone with 
 the doctor. 
 
 "What becomes of boys who grow up in orphan 
 asylums?"- 
 
 He was bent over a microscope, examining a 
 brownish smear on a glass slide, but he straight- 
 ened up to answer her. 
 
 "They go to work: a great many are placed 
 out on farms, I believe. Some merely get jobs 
 as best they can." 
 
 "Then they grow up day labourers, as a rule? 
 They never have a chance to become gentlemen?" 
 He smiled at the drastic classification. 
 
 "Not often, I'm afraid, except in cases of 
 adoption. When people of advantages take such 
 a child, he is very apt to grow to their level. They 
 would pick out a promising one, of course." 
 
 A line had settled between her eyes. "You 
 mean that they would choose the cleverest?" 
 
 "Or the most attractive and lovable, perhaps. 
 That is what a woman with means would look 
 for, I should say." 
 
 "Do such adoptions happen often?" 
 
 "I have known of a good many, first and last, 
 some of them wonderfully successful." He waited 
 
 99
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 a moment, but she asked nothing more, so he 
 bent down over his slide. It was one of his 
 pleasant traits to answer unexpected questions 
 categorically, with no query as to why they had 
 been put. "I have a most interesting bug here, 
 if you would like to see it," he added. She com- 
 plied absently; her mind was still busy with 
 adoptions. 
 
 "When people want to adopt a child, do they 
 go hunting through the asylums?" she went on. 
 
 " Sometimes." 
 
 "But of course, they might not look in the right 
 place," she concluded, half to herself; then re- 
 turned to the microbe under investigation. "Does 
 that mean a deadly disease?" 
 
 "Yes. The fellow will undoubtedly die of it 
 within the next six or eight weeks." 
 
 "Is he old?" 
 
 "No: twenty-six. He doesn't dream that there 
 is anything serious the matter." 
 
 She turned away with a frown, but presently 
 asked, "Shall you have to tell him?" 
 
 "Yes." He did not lift his head, but the 
 deepened note in his voice was like an arresting 
 hand on her shoulder, forcing her to confront for 
 a blighting moment the realities among which 
 he lived. 
 
 "Life is dreadful!" she exclaimed. 
 
 100
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "It has dreadful things in it," he admitted not 
 imcheerfully. 
 
 "Aren't there times when you loathe your pro- 
 fession?" 
 
 "Yes, there are;" a smile had crept into his 
 eyes. "When I have to hook a patient up the 
 back, I give you my word, I'd change places with 
 a hod-carrier." 
 
 She had to laugh. "How can you mind that, 
 when the other things !" 
 
 "Oh, they are nothing. I like 'em." 
 
 "You must do it rather well;" with a glance at 
 his capable, long-fingered hands. 
 
 "Shame and rage make me bungle," he con- 
 fided. "Why can't the critters come properly 
 hooked up the front?" Cassandra wavered a 
 moment, then drew a long sigh. 
 
 "I will do it for you!" she announced. If she 
 expected a protest, she was disappointed: he fell 
 on the suggestion. 
 
 "You will? God bless you, Cassandra Joyce! 
 I am glad you're here." 
 
 "I shan't do it sympathetically," she warned 
 him, already a little repentant of her offer. It 
 did not occur to her or, perhaps, to him- 
 that that service was no more than she owed, as 
 his assistant. "I shall just stalk in and out." 
 
 "Get the old things together, and you may 
 
 IOI
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 make faces at them if you like," he returned with 
 the levity that always startled and charmed her, 
 coming from one whose purposes were so deeply 
 earnest. 
 
 "Ah, it is so nice of you not to be solemn!" she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Solemn!" he repeated in surprise. 
 
 "You are such a frightfully fine character, you 
 know : at first I was always expecting you to tell 
 me that life is real, life is earnest, or things to 
 that effect. But you never do. You denounce 
 once in a while," her smile was reminiscent, "but 
 you don't exhort as you go along. I do like it." 
 
 He was frankly pleased, though he demurred. 
 "I should preach like thunder if I thought it did 
 any good; but I can't see that it does." He rose 
 to put away the microscope, then stood rubbing 
 his eyes, which looked tired. "Would it bore 
 you horribly to read some medical stuff to me?" 
 he asked. "Ann Blossom usually does it when 
 my eyes are bad, but to-night she seems to have - 
 
 "I shall be glad to," Cassandra interposed 
 rather stiffly. He brought her a pamphlet, then 
 threw himself down on a distant couch. A lamp 
 stood at its head and an empty chair beside it, 
 but she stayed where she was, her shoulders ex- 
 pressively squared. She began at once to read, 
 but he broke in. 
 
 102
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "This is a better lamp, Miss Joyce," he ob- 
 served, "and a more comfortable chair; and you 
 won't have to read so loud. But if you would 
 rather stay there, of course - 
 
 "Not in the least," said Cassandra politely, 
 and, moving to the chair beside him, she took up 
 her suspended sentence; but again he interrupted. 
 
 "Tell me, does it bore you too awfully?" Her 
 eyes met his, and suddenly she laughed. "Tell 
 me," he repeated. He had laid his hand on the 
 arm of her chair, and she let her own fall on it. 
 
 "It doesn't bore me at all. In fact, I like it. 
 Now, don't interrupt." The instinctive clasp 
 of their fingers resolved itself into a friendly 
 hand-shake. Then he threw his arm across his 
 eyes, and she turned slightly away from him. 
 Her reading was at first perfunctory, but pres- 
 ently it showed arrested attention. It was she 
 who interrupted now, and her questions were 
 intelligent. 
 
 "Why, it is really interesting," she exclaimed 
 when she closed the pamphlet, an hour later. 
 
 "Do you know, I believe it is!" he mocked her 
 surprise. 
 
 Her promise in the matter of hooks came back 
 unpleasantly to Cassandra the next afternoon 
 when a hired carriage drew up at the verandah 
 step's and a rustle of silk sounded fussily at the 
 
 103
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 glass doors whereby patients entered. A strange 
 little creature was hesitating at the threshold. 
 Her diminutive figure, the great puff of her dull 
 sandy hair, her rich clothes and huge hat, even 
 the little ribboned shoes, suggested youth so 
 strongly that the browned, wrinkled, withered 
 age of her tiny face was shocking. Cassandra 
 had a shrinking impression of a monkey dressed 
 up in human garments: the fingers in tight brown 
 kid seemed to curl on her parasol stick with a 
 dreadful flexibility. 
 
 "Now, don't tell me Dr. Diman is out, or I 
 shall burst into tears!" It was a gay, high voice, 
 still sweet and reassuringly well-bred. Cassandra 
 explained, with reserve, that he was in his office, 
 but engaged for the present, and the little figure 
 perched on the edge of a sleepy-hollow chair that 
 seemed to open to a cavernous depth behind her. 
 
 "Oh, I can wait 'waiting at the gate,'" she 
 hummed softly. "Dr. Horatio Flint sent me." 
 The great name even Cassandra knew it was 
 great was spoken impressively. "Do you know 
 him?" 
 
 "Not personally." Cassandra was beginning 
 to feel an odd attraction in the queer little person. 
 Her brown eyes the only signs of life left in 
 the shrivelled face were bright with naive 
 friendliness. 
 
 104
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "A very remarkable man," was the solemn 
 declaration, followed unexpectedly by a mis- 
 chievous chuckle. "I can't bear him," she con- 
 fided. "He is too cold 'on thy cold grey 
 stones, O Sea!' It takes affection to cure people, 
 my dear. Affection keeps them well, too. Why, 
 so long as my boys were with me would you 
 dream that I have two, great, strapping sons?" 
 
 "I should not," Cassandra admitted. 
 
 "Well, I have. They never call me anything 
 but Flippy my name is Philippa. It used to 
 shock people so!" She laughed with delicate 
 enjoyment of public horror. "I think Flippy is a 
 darling name, far sweeter than Mama, don't you ? 
 'I'm going to be married, M'ma, M'ma!'" she 
 sang mockingly, her face drawn up monkeyishly 
 over the word. "They live at the other ends of 
 the world, but they are perfectly devoted to me, 
 my boys." Her gaiety was suddenly quenched 
 in harassed anxiety to be believed. "Absolutely 
 devoted. Why, I had a letter from Carlo not 
 four days ago. They write all the time. I could 
 show you the letters." 
 
 "Of course they do," Cassandra assented. The 
 little shapeless face lighted amazingly. 
 
 "Yes the darlings: they adore their Flippy. 
 Have you any sons? No? Then why don't you 
 adopt one? Women can't live without children,
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 my dear. I should be a perfectly well person if 
 I weren't so lonely. 'Can't you see I'm lonely, 
 lonely as can be?'" she sang sentimentally, then 
 broke off with a ripple of laughter. "Don't you 
 adore the warm-flannel smell of a very little boy?" 
 she demanded. 
 
 Cassandra was looking at her intently. "Why 
 don't you adopt a little boy?" she ventured. The 
 readiness with which the idea was received was 
 disconcerting. 
 
 "Oh, wouldn't that be fun! Do you suppose 
 I could?" 
 
 Cassandra had to doubt the lastingness of so 
 facile an enthusiasm, yet her heart had a quick- 
 ened beat. "I don't see why not!" 
 
 "Oh, oh!" She rocked excitedly. "And he 
 could go to all the matinees with me don't you 
 worship comic opera? I have pots of money! 
 Only it would be so hard to find a pretty, cuddly 
 little boy that no one wants." 
 
 "I know of a perfect darling," said Cassandra 
 slowly. 
 
 "You do?" she started up eagerly. "Could I 
 have him?" 
 
 "Why, I don't know: he is in an orphan asylum. 
 You could see him." 
 
 She pirouetted lightly with a wave of her parasol. 
 "How perfectly lovely!" Then the opening of 
 
 106
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 the office door reduced her abruptly to dignity. 
 "Dr. Diman? I am sent to you by Dr. Horatio 
 Flint," she announced, and entered the office 
 with a silken sweep. 
 
 Caspar, after a curious glance at his patient, 
 opened the sealed letter of introduction she had 
 brought. Across the outside was written, "Intro- 
 ducing Mrs. Alpheus Thorndyke." Within he 
 read: 
 
 DEAR DIMAN, 
 
 For the love of heaven, take this crazy old woman off my 
 hands. There isn't anything the matter with her bodily, and 
 she is not mad enough to be shut up worse luck. She will 
 take from one to five hours a day of your time, if you will let 
 her. Your well-known fondness for freaks would not excuse 
 passing her on to you, if I did not hope that you might know 
 of some woman who can take charge of her under the guise of 
 a companion. Combination of Florence Nightingale and May 
 Irwin needed for the job. She can pay anything and is very 
 open to suggestions for the moment. There are sons who 
 ought to look after her, but they don't. 
 
 Hope you will forgive me. 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 HORATIO FLINT. 
 
 There was not a flaw in Caspar's respectful 
 gravity as he slowly folded the letter and turned 
 to his patient. She had shrunk down in her 
 chair, one little claw over her heart. 
 
 "I am a very sick woman, Dr. Diman," she 
 said feebly. 
 
 107
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 During the next half-hour Cassandra mapped 
 out a pleasant future for Villum, and found her- 
 self quite startlingly happy over his prospects. 
 This Flippy was not perhaps a very sensible 
 woman, but she was kind and rich, and Villum 
 was not one to suffer for lack of intellectual op- 
 portunities. Moreover, she had brought up two 
 sons, and so must know something about it. A 
 course of comic opera might not be wholly ad- 
 visable for a little boy, but Villum's placid sweet- 
 ness had a protective quality, like a coating of 
 varnish he would not easily be hurt. Funny 
 little loving person! Satisfaction swelled within 
 her at the thought that he might find a home, and 
 grow into a gentleman instead of a day labourer. 
 
 "I shall have done one good deed in this world, 
 anyway," she concluded, with a thrill of pleasure 
 for the look Dr. Diman would give her when he 
 found out. 
 
 She turned eagerly when the office door opened, 
 but Mrs. Thorndyke was deep in talk with the 
 doctor, and let him put her into the waiting car- 
 riage without a glance for his assistant. Evi- 
 dently she had already forgotten. In the chill of 
 her disappointment, Cassandra would have spoken 
 to Dr. Diman of Villum and his fate; but, un- 
 luckily, another patient claimed him. 
 
 The disappointment would not be shaken off. 
 1 08
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Villum's future was not her affair, she impa- 
 tiently reminded herself; yet she was still sitting 
 in idleness grieving for his lost chance when the 
 carriage came hurrying back and the little figure 
 in swishing silk entered with a rush. 
 
 "Whoo-oo!" she called. "What was that 
 about the delicious baby? I almost forgot. Can 
 I really have him?" 
 
 Cassandra laughed with relief. "Do you want 
 to go and see him now?" she asked. 
 
 "This minute. Where is he?" 
 
 Cassandra wrote Villum's name and the ad- 
 dress on one of Dr. Diman's professional cards, 
 and received a fervent embrace before Flippy 
 whirled off. She accepted the demonstration 
 good-humouredly, feeling wonderfully pleased 
 with life and with herself at that moment. She 
 had meant to pay Villum a visit that afternoon, 
 but, not wishing to intrude on his first interview 
 with good fortune, she turned to the garden when 
 her day's work was done. 
 
 Ann Blossom, who was weeding a bed of pan- 
 sies, greeted her with a welcoming smile. Re- 
 sentment, .with Ann, could not outlast twenty- 
 four hours, and if she had not condoned the 
 heartless treatment of Villum, she had so em- 
 bedded it in her general kindly faith in others 
 that it no longer wounded. From the trellis at 
 
 109
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 the rear of the house came the cheerful clip of 
 Ernest's shears. 
 
 "You may pull some of my weeds, if you like," 
 Ann offered. "It is very generous of me, for 
 there aren't half enough." 
 
 "Do you really like doing it?" Cassandra 
 asked, dropping on one knee and drawing out a 
 small weed with an air of dubious experiment. 
 Ann was curled down on the path in a bunch 
 that must have been anatomically impossible to 
 most persons, frankly earthy to her elbows, and 
 she laughed at Cassandra's aloof method of 
 gardening. 
 
 "I adore it when the weeds are thick," she 
 explained. "It is like cleaning an awfully dusty 
 room, or taking a bath when you have been out 
 in good country dirt all day there is something 
 to show for it." 
 
 Cassandra pulled another weed, then dusted 
 her fingers and rose to her feet. "Someway, this 
 does not appeal to me. Perhaps the weeds are 
 not thick enough. I will see if I like Mr. Cun- 
 ningham's work any better." And she strolled on, 
 not noticing how the girl's vivid face had clouded. 
 
 A wheelbarrow stood beside Ernest's ladder, 
 and she seated herself in it on a cushion of honey- 
 suckle sprays. 
 
 "I am so tired of this gardening fad," she corn- 
 no
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 plained. "I made some visits in England, last 
 year, and it was nothing but bulbs and annuals 
 and fertilizers from morning till night. It bored 
 me almost to tears. You are not listening/' she 
 added. 
 
 "Indeed, I am. But I am wondering if I dare 
 say something to you." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 The clipping had stopped and he was absently 
 stabbing the top of the ladder with his shears. 
 "I have been trying to confess for two days. Day 
 before yesterday I went over to the Sacred Heart 
 asylum with some clothes that had been sent in 
 for the children." 
 
 Her "Oh!" showed irritation as well as en- 
 lightenment. 
 
 "I saw you there with little Villum in your 
 lap," he went on, turning to her with a smile. 
 "Please pardon me for finding you out though 
 I can't really be sorry, for I had been misjudging 
 you." 
 
 "No, you hadn't," she insisted impatiently. 
 "I know what you are thinking the opening 
 of the chestnut burr and all that. It is nothing 
 of the kind. This was merely an accident." 
 
 "Such accidents don't happen accidentally, 
 Miss Joyce. I saw a great deal through that 
 open door." 
 
 in
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "You saw a perfectly conventional mother- 
 and-child tableau, a chromolithograph, a mag- 
 azine cover. I refuse to let you be moved by 
 anything so cheaply obvious." She laughed with 
 returning good-humour, but broke off to ask 
 quickly, "Did you tell anyone?" 
 
 "Assuredly not." He seemed shocked at the 
 suggestion. "But you will let the others know, 
 sooner or later?" 
 
 She smiled to herself at thought of how the tale 
 might come out, when little Villum went glori- 
 ously away to grow up into a gentleman. "Per- 
 haps, some day," she said. 
 
 He was troubled. "Why not now?" he urged. 
 "You don't realize how a little false impression - 
 
 "I don't care anything about false impressions," 
 she interrupted. "It is my secret, you know." 
 
 "Oh, of course. But I think you are making 
 a mistake." 
 
 "So much the better," she returned cheerfully. 
 "There would be no sporting element in a life 
 without mistakes. Haven't you ever made any 
 and been glad of it you cautious son of New 
 England?" 
 
 His glance strayed towards the pansy bed where 
 Ann was bending over the weeds, her face turned 
 away from him. "Yes, one," he admitted. 
 
 "Tell me about it." 
 
 112
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "I made the inexcusable mistake of overwork- 
 ing and injuring my eyes." 
 
 She looked up curiously. "And you are glad 
 of that?" 
 
 "I am very deeply glad of that." 
 
 "Why?" To her surprise, he flushed. For a 
 moment he hesitated; then, 
 
 "It brought me here; and one may see very 
 wonderful things through dark glasses, Miss 
 Joyce," he said, with his little bow of gallantry. . 
 
 "Does the man mean me?" was her startled 
 thought. She had a frown of annoyance for the 
 idea, yet, at the same time, a contradictory stir- 
 ring of satisfaction. Any variation from the diet 
 of husks to which she had been subjected must 
 prove tempting. She had no intention of feeding 
 this helpless young professor to her starved van- 
 ity; yet she permitted it, so to speak, a nibble. 
 
 "Truly?" There was a glimmer of mischief 
 in her eyes. "If I were to put them on at this 
 moment, what should I see?" 
 
 "If you could tell me exactly what you see 
 without them," he began with a little laugh of 
 excitement, settling down on the ladder as though 
 the curtain were just going up. Ann at the other 
 side of the lawn pulled up a pansy and flung it 
 on her pile of weeds. 
 
 "I see a very chivalrous and kindly gentleman,"
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 said Cassandra, leaning back on a stiffened arm 
 that she might look up at him more comfortably. 
 "How could dark glasses improve on that?" 
 
 "They might make you think that what you 
 so graciously call chivalry and kindliness were 
 the qualities that you most admired," was the 
 unexpectedly acute answer. Ernest was happily 
 aware that he had scored; he had an air of crow- 
 ing down at her as he clasped one knee and 
 rocked triumphantly back on his narrow seat. 
 
 "Ah, you are nice," she admitted, and her 
 appreciative laugh carried the words across the 
 lawn. Ann started up, as though she had sud- 
 denly remembered something, and hurried into 
 the house. Ernest's spirits flagged somewhat 
 after she had gone: he did not again score so 
 neatly. Yet he was decidedly better than nothing. 
 Cassandra stayed until she saw the doctor's 
 carriage return, when she strolled back to the big 
 living-room. 
 
 The same sound had evidently summoned Ann 
 down-stairs, for she had paused, leaning on the 
 banister, while he answered the telephone. Stray 
 words of his conversation brought Cassandra to 
 an abrupt halt in the doorway. 
 
 "But I don't understand. I haven't sent you 
 anyone," he was explaining with a puzzled frown. 
 "William Schmidt oh, Villum, of course. But 
 
 114
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 I have not . . . My card, you say ? That is very 
 strange. . . . Yes, a Mrs. Thorndyke was here to- 
 day to consult me, but I certainly did not . . . What 
 young lady? . . .Oh, I hadn't known that. Pos- 
 sibly she may have. I will do what I can at once, 
 Sister Agnes. I will call you up in a few min- 
 utes." He hung up the receiver with perturbed 
 haste. "Ann, I didn't know that you had been 
 visiting Villum," he exclaimed. 
 "I haven't. I meant to see them all, but some 
 
 wav " 
 
 "But Sister Agnes says 
 
 "I am afraid I am the guilty one," Cassandra 
 broke in, rather nervously. Their amazement 
 was scarcely flattering. "I am sorry, but it 
 really was I," she insisted with a resentful motion 
 of her eyebrows. "I have been to see him any 
 number of times." 
 
 "Did you send Mrs. Thorndyke there to-day 
 with one of my cards?" Caspar's look was not 
 the one she had anticipated at the discovery of 
 her good deed. 
 
 "I did," she said shortly, turning away as from 
 a closed topic. 
 
 "Please explain, Miss Joyce." Caspar was 
 making a visible effort at patience. He had had 
 a racking day, and the picture he had seen by the 
 trellis as he drove in had irritated and disheartened 
 
 "5
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 him solely on Ann's account, he told himself. 
 Under his forced temperance he was savagely 
 glad of a legitimate cause for disapproval; and 
 Cassandra felt it without understanding. 
 
 "Why, it was simply that Mrs. Thorndyke told 
 me she wished to adopt a child; that she had 
 money and was lonely. I have become rather 
 interested in Villum, and this seemed a good 
 chance for him, so I told her to look him up. I 
 don't see anything so very heinous in that." 
 
 "The mistake was in using one of my cards," 
 Caspar explained shortly, looking at his watch. 
 "That gave her a sort of passport there, so that 
 she was left alone with him in the visitors' 
 room." 
 
 "And what was the harm of that, may I 
 ask?" 
 
 "The harm of that was that she has walked 
 off with him." He was running his eyes down a 
 time table. "Ann, dear, will you bring me a 
 glass of milk? I don't know when I shall get 
 any dinner. Mrs. Thorndyke is about two-thirds 
 insane," he added to Cassandra. 
 
 She stood aghast. "I didn't know that," she 
 muttered. Not looking at her, he did not see 
 the distress in her eyes; her voice sounded merely 
 sulky. 
 
 "Put good Lord ! if you talked to her two 
 116
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 minutes, how could you think she was a suitable 
 person to bring up a child?" he exclaimed. Her 
 eyes filled. 
 
 "She seemed kind," she said unsteadily; 
 "and he isn't clever, anyway only very lov- 
 ing. I wanted to - Then she put away self- 
 defense with a quick upward motion of her head. 
 "Is there anything I can do?" 
 
 He had turned back to the telephone. "Oh, 
 we shall undoubtedly find him with no trouble," 
 he said indifferently. "Thank you, Ann; you're 
 a comfort." 
 
 Cassandra waited until he had finished talking 
 with the asylum, then spoke out of a new and 
 choking humility. 
 
 "Why can't I go to the city instead of you? I 
 made the trouble it is only fair that I should 
 undo it." 
 
 "I am afraid you couldn't." He did not look 
 at her, but he spoke more gently. "Tell Ernest 
 that I may telephone for him to come and help," 
 he added to Ann, and laid his hand for an instant 
 on her shoulder as he went away. Cassandra 
 turned swiftly to her own room. 
 
 "It is never right, what I do it is never 
 right!" she stormed. 
 
 Mrs. Thorndyke had not returned to the apart- 
 ment hotel where she lived, either with or without 
 
 117
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Villum. Caspar had found out at the station 
 that the two had taken the train together they 
 were a couple to be noted and remembered; and 
 at the ferry he found a cab that had carried them 
 to a children's clothing store; but there all trace 
 of them ended. It was possible that they had 
 gone driving in the park, and he made a futile 
 trip to the Zoo in the hope of overtaking them 
 there, then returned wearily to the hotel to see if 
 dinner-time would not produce them. When it 
 did not, he telephoned for Ernest and took the 
 manager of the hotel into his confidence. 
 
 "You'll find her at a theatre," he prophesied, 
 so, while Ernest tried the various hotels, he drove 
 from box office to box office. Only the roof 
 gardens and the frivolities of the "silly season" 
 were running. The hot streets seemed to Caspar 
 squalid and charmless; the vulgar imbecility of 
 the shows in progress made him stare in wonder 
 at the laughing, intent faces of the audiences. 
 "I am a thousand years old!" was his silent con- 
 clusion as the last of them failed to give any signs 
 of the queer couple he sought. 
 
 He and Ernest met by agreement at half-past 
 nine, neither with any news. Caspar was not 
 anxious for Villum's bodily safety; but the affair 
 was beginning to look serious enough without 
 that. He could not know to what degree Mrs. 
 
 118
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Thorndyke was irresponsible, and Dr, Flint had 
 left town. 
 
 "There is one concert I want to try; and then 
 we shall have to go to the police," he decided 
 reluctantly. 
 
 Fully a thousand persons were grouped about 
 the little tables of the huge, barnlike concert 
 hall. Iced air was rumbling up through great 
 funnels at the corners, iced drinks were skimming 
 overhead on high-poised trays. Surprising social 
 divergences marked the different tables; each 
 group was complete in itself, and cared not who 
 might be its neighbour. The two men made 
 their way slowly down the length of the hall, 
 looking about with little expectation; and yet, 
 at the far end, they came suddenly upon an un- 
 mistakable little figure in elaborate brown silk, 
 with a mass of hair puffed out youthfully under 
 her huge hat, her tiny beribboned shoes tucked 
 up on the rung of the next chair. Her face was 
 turned away, and for a dismaying moment they 
 thought she was alone. Then they saw a tow 
 head resting on her lap, the broad face upturned 
 in abysmal slumber, while the plump body, clad 
 in a wonderful new suit, drooped helplessly over 
 the edges of an inadequate chair seat. Two 
 empty glasses, foamy and pink-edged, stood on 
 their table, and the restless, withered face, as they 
 
 119
 
 approached, was almost as peaceful as Villum's. 
 They made their appearance as casual and un- 
 startling as possible, but her charmingly friendly 
 eyes did not show a flicker of alarm. She greeted 
 Dr. Diman with a laugh of delight, and extended 
 a cordial little brown claw to Ernest. 
 
 "How jolly to meet here," she exclaimed. 
 "Why didn't you tell me you were coming over 
 to-night?" 
 
 "We didn't know it ourselves," was Caspar's 
 truthful answer as they drew up two vacant chairs 
 and beckoned a waiter. "You will take soda or 
 something with us, won't you? We have a 
 Sahara thirst." 
 
 "Ah, you have been doing the town!" she 
 reproved him, with joy in his obliquity. 
 
 "God knows, we have," he assented, a hand at 
 his tired forehead. 
 
 "I knew you were nice and human not like 
 that stuffy old Flint," she assured him. "No, 
 nothing more for me we have had dozens. It 
 has been such a spree! What do you think of 
 my new baby?" And she gently turned the pink 
 face toward them, her eyes alight with pride. 
 
 "I think you took him rather abruptly," Cas- 
 par observed. She chuckled with monkeyish 
 wickedness. 
 
 "Wasn't I clever? But there is always so 
 1 20
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 much red tape at those places, and your young 
 lady said I could have him. So we just ' skipped 
 by the light of the moon, the moon!'" she ended 
 with a trill of song that drew curious glances 
 toward her. 
 
 "Yes; but how do you think they are feeling, 
 the people who have charge of that young man?" 
 Caspar asked. 
 
 "Who cares? They aren't his mother. Ah, 
 we are going to be so happy together, this little 
 Florizel and I!" She bent over him crooningly. 
 "Flippy's little sleepy boy! Old honey love! 
 Don't you think Florizel is a pretty name for 
 him?" 
 
 Caspar's eyes were warmly sorry. "What will 
 your boys think, if you get so fond of someone 
 else's boy?" he suggested. The next train did 
 not go for over an hour, so he had time to try 
 indirect methods. Her face clouded piteously. 
 
 "An, they are devoted to me, my boys," she 
 assured him eagerly. "They adore their Flippy 
 they write all the time. You mustn't think 
 they aren't devoted, for they are, they are!" 
 Then her distress vanished in a ripple of laughter. 
 "It will be such fun to tell them about their new 
 little brother! They might even come on to see 
 him Carlo is only in Omaha, and he hasn't 
 any little children of his own. Old pudding!" 
 
 121
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 She rearranged the child's tie and collar with 
 maternal fussiness, while the doctor met and 
 silently answered a questioning glance from 
 Ernest. They must not go back without Villum, 
 even for one night. 
 
 The orchestra began its last number, and they 
 sat in silence until it was finished and the audi- 
 ence had started out. Then Caspar rose. 
 
 "I am afraid you must let me take Villum 
 back," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "You 
 see, they are all horribly frightened about him." 
 
 "They might have known I would take good 
 care of him!" she returned indignantly. "I 
 guess I have brought up two great strapping sons 
 -it's more than those old nuns ever did." 
 
 "Well, you know there is a law about kidnap- 
 ping," he reminded her, and stooped to pick up 
 the sleeping Villum. Two furious little claws 
 fought him off. 
 
 "You shan't take him from me! You shan't!" 
 she cried shrilly. The crowd about them paused 
 to stare. Caspar laid a quieting hand on her 
 shoulder, making an instant decision. 
 
 "Suppose you both come home with me," he 
 said. "You may hold him all the way, if you 
 like." She was easily persuaded to that, but there 
 was another struggle before she would let anyone 
 else carry the boy. 
 
 122
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "How do I know you aren't cheating me?" 
 she wailed. "You will snatch him and run 
 away. People are always cheating me!" 
 
 "I shall not cheat you;" his earnestness made 
 itself felt, calming her instantly. "If you like, 
 we will let Mr. Cunningham carry him, and you 
 shall take his arm and mme. You can't lift 
 Villum yourself, you know." So they went out 
 oddly linked, not even breaking the chain when 
 they entered a carriage. They might have caused 
 comment anywhere else; but midsummer New 
 York finds nothing unusual. Mrs. Thorndyke, 
 with Florizel restored to her arms, became tran- 
 quil again, but when they stopped at the hotel 
 for her things, Caspar had to go up-stairs with 
 her as a proof of good faith. She brought away 
 a pile of packages that had been delivered that 
 evening. 
 
 "My little FlorizeFs outfit," she explained. 
 
 While they waited at the ferry, Ernest tele- 
 phoned the news of Villum's safety, and also sent 
 off a telegram informing Mr. Charles Thorn- 
 dyke of Omaha that his mother's mental condi- 
 tion required the immediate presence of some 
 member of her family. Caspar himself did not 
 stray a foot from his charge, though his entirely 
 casual manner gave no hint of guardianship. 
 
 "I think it is jolly to be going home with you," 
 123
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 she assured him. "I liked your house, and I 
 adored that big, handsome young lady. Is she 
 your wife?" 
 
 Caspar looked startled. "Oh, no; my assist- 
 ant. Here is our boat," he added hastily, raising 
 Villum to his shoulder. 
 
 Ann was the only person waiting to receive 
 them. She had made up a bed for Villum in 
 her own room, and, after seeing him tucked up 
 there, Mrs. Thorndyke was easily persuaded to 
 go to bed in a little room adjoining. When she 
 had been made comfortable, Ann came back to 
 Caspar, who was closing the house. 
 
 "I am so sorry I called her heartless," she said 
 abruptly. "Miss Joyce, I mean. She told me 
 I made her that she ran after Villum that 
 day and comforted him; and she has been to 
 see him ever since. I am so ashamed of my- 
 self!" Tears rose in her eyes. 
 
 "Don't worry," he advised; but he looked 
 rather unhappy himself. 
 
 "I have to when I have been unfair. And, 
 doctor dearest, I think you hurt her very much. 
 She meant so kindly, and you were so- 
 
 " Savage?" he helped her out. 
 
 "Oh, no oh, never! But one just can't bear 
 to have you unfriendly!" 
 
 "Can't one?" He laughed at her. "Well, I 
 124
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 will apologize in the morning. Now go to bed, 
 generous Ann you look tired." 
 
 "Her light is still lit," Ann ventured, as she 
 obeyed. 
 
 Late as it was, Caspar lingered a while opening 
 letters and forgetting to read them, or absently 
 turning over pamphlets. Pretence at occupation 
 ended presently in frank abstraction. Then he 
 took a sheet of paper and wrote : 
 
 DEAR CASSANDRA JOYCE, 
 
 Please forgive my bearishness. You would if you knew 
 how sorry I am. I have brought your Villum back safe and 
 sound, and gorgeous in new raiment. So you won't hold it 
 up against me, will you? One can't bear to have people 
 unfriendly. Goodnight. 
 
 \-s . I - . 
 
 He slipped this under his assistant's door, 
 where a line of light still showed, and heard a 
 quick step within as he went on.
 
 Miss MYRTLE had not been told of Villum's 
 disappearance those who lived with her grad- 
 ually acquired the habit of not telling her things 
 that could give excuse for lamentation; and she 
 had gone up-stairs before the news of his finding 
 came. She always went to her room early, hav- 
 ing a great many small offices that must be per- 
 formed before she could fittingly go to sleep. 
 No one ever quite found out what these were, 
 though chance openings of the door sometimes 
 revealed her sewing in ruchings with hunted 
 earnestness, or washing bits of lace in the hand 
 basin, or twisting her abundant grey hair into 
 crimping instruments. Caspar, hearing her 
 heavy step over his head for an hour and a half 
 one night, finally arose and went up, between 
 amusement and exasperation, to see what she was 
 doing. A row of polished boots and three piece 
 bags in wonderful order were her justification. 
 
 "I have to do these things evenings, Caspar; 
 I don't have a minute all day," she explained in 
 dignified resentment, and he went back outwardly 
 routed, though secretly wondering a little if 
 
 126
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 housekeeping were really so much more arduous 
 than a growing and complex medical practice. 
 
 When she did give herself over to sleep, Miss 
 Myrtle slept heavily, and so she knew nothing of 
 the night arrivals when she came down-stairs the 
 morning after Villum's adventure. It was her 
 theory that, living in Caspar's house, she was 
 always prepared for the worst; but her horrified 
 pause at the head of the stairs showed her spirit 
 still far from broken. 
 
 Below, on a rug, sat a tiny, weazened old woman 
 clad in silken finery, her fading hair bushed and 
 puffed and adorned with a white rose, her little 
 claws doing marvellous things with jackstones, 
 while, seated facing her, a blond little boy in a 
 new suit looked on in heavy-eyed wonder and 
 tried in vain to emulate. Villum had evidently 
 accepted the fact that life has kaleidoscopic 
 changes; that one frequently finds oneself handed 
 over to some new guardian, or wakes up in a 
 strange bed. Accordingly, he wasted no time 
 in wondering, but turned all his placid attention 
 to the matter in hand. A sneeze that threatened 
 to lift his short legs off the rug seemed to 
 restore to Miss Myrtle the use of her faculties. 
 She turned and went swiftly back along the upper 
 hall to Caspar's door, which opened at her step. 
 
 " Hello, Myrtle," he said cheerfully. 
 127
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Caspar, who is that woman?" she cried. 
 Caspa had not slept well, and was tired; for 
 once, he let Myrtle's despair irritate him. 
 
 "A guest who will stay in my house for several 
 days," he answered incisively. He might as 
 well have kept his temper, for all the impression 
 he made. 
 
 "What is the matter with her?" 
 
 "I don't think you will notice anything. She 
 is somewhat flighty and irresponsible." 
 
 "And the child?" 
 
 "Don't you remember Villum?" 
 
 "Is he to stay, too?" 
 
 "Really, Myrtle, I can't be put through this 
 sort of catechism every time I open my doors to 
 anyone. I wish you would grasp the fact that 
 you can't make me over." His most unusual 
 sharpness finally reached her; her mouth took 
 an injured droop. 
 
 "If you had to do the housekeeping for one 
 week, Caspar," she was beginning, when he cut in. 
 
 "Very well; some day I will." It was not a 
 threat, but a quiet decision. "I am too rushed 
 just now, but very soon I shall send you away for 
 a while, and investigate for myself this mighty 
 business of housekeeping." And he walked coolly 
 away, leaving his sister for ,0nce thoroughly im- 
 pressed. 
 
 128
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Mrs. Thorndyke greeted the doctor with a 
 friendly gaiety that struck him as artificial, and 
 he saw, or fancied he saw, that she was tensely 
 ready for a sudden movement as he bent down to 
 rub an affectionate hand over Villum's head. 
 Partly as a test, he suggested to the child that he 
 go up and knock on the door at the head of the 
 stairs. 
 
 "You will find someone you know there," he 
 explained. She watched uneasily as the child 
 toiled up baby fashion, the right leg leading. 
 
 "He might fall," she suggested, starting to her 
 feet. 
 
 "Oh, no, he won't." Commonplace as Cas- 
 par's tone was, it conveyed a command, and she 
 reluctantly sank down again. They heard the 
 soft thud on the panels above, then a little crow 
 of "Mine own lady!" before the door closed on 
 him. Mrs. Thorndyke was so plainly unhappy 
 that he took both her restless hands, forcing her 
 attention. 
 
 "I want you to listen to me," he commanded. 
 "I am going to make you a promise, and I 
 shall not break it. Not one thing shall 
 be done with you or Villum without its being all 
 talked over with you first. I am not going to 
 cheat you or to take him away by stealth. You 
 shall have fair warning of any change. I want 
 
 129
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 you to believe me." Her eyes, which had been 
 searching his face, brimmed with tears. 
 
 "Then I may keep him?" she cried. 
 
 "You may keep him here all to-day, and to- 
 morrow, and the next day;" he promised, "then 
 we will have another talk about it." He had 
 already received a telegram from Mr. Charles 
 Thorndyke saying that he was starting at once. 
 
 She darted lightly to her feet. 
 
 "Here we go round the barbary bush,' " she 
 sang invitingly, as Villum reappeared, clasping 
 Cassandra by the hand. "Come and have a 
 game, Florizel. You play, too you're that nice, 
 handsome young lady. Let's all play barbary 
 bush!" 
 
 She held out her hands to Caspar and Cassan- 
 dra, who gravely took them, and the three circled 
 to her chanting about the enraptured Villum. 
 Miss Myrtle, appearing in the doorway to an- 
 nounce breakfast, stood silently staring at them 
 with an expression that called out a shout of 
 laughter from her brother. 
 
 "'So early in the morning,'" he echoed, catch- 
 ing up Villum and swinging him to his shoulder. 
 "We're coming, Myrtle." Flippy, he noticed, 
 followed without anxiety; for the present, at 
 least, she was reassured. 
 
 Villum had little appetite for breakfast, and 
 130
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Caspar glanced more than once at his heavy eyes 
 and flushed cheeks. As they left the table, an- 
 other violent sneeze almost heaved him off his 
 balance. 
 
 "Too much party yesterday," Caspar com- 
 mented, putting his finger into the soft neck. "I 
 suspect that somebody has taken cold. Come 
 here, Villum, and let your doctor overhaul 
 you." 
 
 Villum offered himself up with his lovely 
 trustingness, and made no objection when it was 
 decided that he would be better off in bed. 
 
 "I will go to mine own lady's bed," he an- 
 nounced, tipping back his head so that all his 
 broad pink face was upturned to Cassandra. 
 
 "What does your own lady say to that?" 
 
 "I suppose it would be easier to look after him 
 there," she admitted indifferently. "Shall I let 
 the Sisters know?" 
 
 "Yes, please. Say he has a cold and we will 
 keep him for the present. You will help us take 
 care of him, won't you, Mrs. Thorndyke?" She 
 had been listening with quick, suspicious glances, 
 but her face cleared brilliantly at the appeal. 
 
 "Ah, what fun we shall have!" she cried. 
 "Won't you please all call me Flippy?" 
 
 "To be sure," Caspar assented, setting Villum 
 down. "Now let Flippy get you to bed, old
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 man. Your own lady will come and see you by 
 and by." 
 
 Villum put up an obedient little hand and they 
 went up-stairs accompanied by the jackstones and 
 a picture book. Caspar looked after them with 
 a suppressed laugh. 
 
 "Keeping Villum in bed won't hurt him, and 
 it will anchor her down," he observed. " 'Flippy' ! 
 It doesn't sound exactly respectful, but if she 
 wants it !" 
 
 "Shall you encourage her to call you Caspar?" 
 There was an odd pleasure in using his name 
 even indirectly. 
 
 "If she likes, poor little critter." 
 
 "Won't she make a dreadful fuss when Villum 
 is taken away from her?" 
 
 "Her son is coming from Omaha, and I am 
 hoping that the excitement of that will divert 
 her." 
 
 "And if it does not?" 
 
 "Then I am afraid she will have to be un- 
 happy;" his voice was warmly compassionate. 
 "In any case, she is not to be tricked or cheated. 
 Sane or insane, I am certain that always causes 
 more friction than it saves." 
 
 "I have made a great deal of trouble," observed 
 Cassandra, dispassionately. 
 
 "You couldn't know," he comforted her. 
 132
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Miss Snell, hearing of the new guests, firmly 
 kept her room all the morning. 
 
 "I can't do anything with her," Ann reported, 
 coming down with her luncheon tray. "She says 
 that strangers make her nervous, and she is better 
 off up there; but she doesn't seem at all happy." 
 Caspar was leaving for a consultation, but he 
 paused, looked at his watch, then turned to the 
 stairs. 
 
 "I'll fix her," he assured them. 
 
 "He will;" Ann asserted to Cassandra and 
 Ernest with a satisfied nod. "She is jealous, 
 that's all poor old thing." 
 
 "Jealous!" Cassandra had a frown of amaze- 
 ment for the word. 
 
 "Well, she hates to have him get very much 
 interested in a new patient," Ann explained in- 
 dulgently. "She can't help wanting to be first 
 with him. It is very natural." And she took 
 Miss Snell's cushions out to the garden in per- 
 fect confidence of the issue. Cassandra looked 
 rather blank. 
 
 " Miss Snell, too ! " she said ironically. "Really, 
 they ought to form themselves into a club, the 
 doctor's adorers." 
 
 "When we do, I am sure you will insist on 
 being enrolled," Ernest declared, his boldness 
 tempered by a smile of apology.
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Oh, I daresay I shall be president," she 
 retorted. 
 
 "Tell me haven't you come to feel about him 
 a little as we do?" 
 
 "He is, of course, unusual," she admitted dryly, 
 after a pause. 
 
 "Unusual!" Then the school master in him 
 checked his warm protest at her inadequacy. 
 "And just what do you mean by unusual?" 
 
 "Rather more generous than the average." 
 Her coolness was now deliberately provocative; 
 she felt an acute desire to make him flare up 
 again for the honour of his friend. And she was 
 not disappointed. He was still earnestly holding 
 forth on what "that man" had done for various 
 maimed and broken lives when Caspar appeared 
 at the stair-head, Miss Snell leaning on his arm. 
 Ernest's abrupt halt was awkward; indeed, both 
 looked self-conscious, separating with the effect 
 of leaving an unfinished sentence suspended. 
 The buggy was waiting, but, after establishing 
 Miss Snell in the garden, Caspar came slowly 
 back, pulling on his glove. 
 
 "Cassandra Joyce, what am I going to do with 
 you?" he exclaimed. He was not joking; the 
 look that met her quick upward glance was stern. 
 
 "Am I in the way?" she asked coldly, after 
 a frightened pause. 
 
 134
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Not in my way; but sometimes you frighten 
 me for others. If you hurt my innocent little 
 crockery pots, how can I ever forgive myself?" 
 
 She thought she understood, and a flame of 
 resentment crossed her face. First, it was "his" 
 Ann Blossom who was to be protected from her 
 cruelty, now, undoubtedly, "his" Ernest Cun- 
 ningham was to be shielded from her kindness. 
 
 '* You never seem to trouble lest anyone might 
 hurt me," she flashed out. 
 
 "Naturally; you are armoured by experience. 
 But Ernest " 
 
 "Oh, I won't hurt him," she interrupted with 
 a gesture of exasperation. "It would bore me 
 too unmercifully can't you understand that?" 
 
 He did not appear wholly convinced, but he 
 turned away. "It would be a true kindness to 
 let Ernest understand it," he said with a suppressed 
 sigh. 
 
 He was usually in his office at this hour, and, 
 as her anger cooled, Cassandra watched and 
 listened for his return with an intensity that left 
 her fiercely impatient of the numberless little 
 duties and interruptions of her work. It had 
 come on her more than once of late, this restless 
 irritation at his absence. The knowledge that 
 he was going serenely about his business, coming 
 hourly into close contact with lives unknown to
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 her, forgetful, no doubt, of her very existence, 
 did not make it more bearable, though it forced 
 her to shut her teeth hard on her own folly. She 
 might have consoled her pride by treating him 
 coolly when he came in, but a patient was waiting 
 and she had no opportunity. 
 
 Caspar's patients were apt to be given generous 
 sessions, but this one, a drooping, middle-aged 
 woman, had been closeted with him an unusually 
 long time when he opened the door with a sum- 
 moning, 
 
 "Miss Joyce please." He had never before 
 called her into the office, and her heart sank 
 dismally at what might be required of her; she 
 had meant to recall that absurd offer in regard 
 to hooks. Realizing that it was now too late for 
 spoken protest, she halted just within the door, 
 looking very handsome and rebellious. The 
 patient was slowly dragging herself up from the 
 couch. 
 
 "I declare, I don't see what made me faint," 
 she kept saying, with nervous sniffs at a bottle 
 of salts. Her hat had been removed, and her 
 hair fell in a dingy black coil from the one hair- 
 pin that had stayed in place. She did not look 
 at Cassandra, and, if the doctor read her attitude, 
 he gave no sign of it. 
 
 "Miss Joyce, will you help Mrs. Harris;" he 
 136
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 spoke civilly, as employer to employee, not lift- 
 ing his eyes from a prescription he was writing. 
 Her face flushed, and for a perilous moment she 
 stood where she was ; then she came slowly across 
 the room. 
 
 "If you will just twist it up any way," mur- 
 mured Mrs. Harris, who, fortunately for her 
 peace of mind, had no attention to spare from 
 herself. Cassandra hated physical contact, she 
 hated this drooping, sighing woman and her 
 unlovely hair; for the moment she almost hated 
 Caspar. Her whole physique was insolently 
 expressive of repugnance as she silently did what 
 was expected of her. 
 
 "Now if you will give me my hat and gloves," 
 sighed the unconscious Mrs. Harris. "I declare, 
 I don't know what made me faint." 
 
 Cassandra complied and stalked out of the 
 room. Caspar, after closing the door on his 
 patient, stood with one hand clasping the back of 
 his neck, shaken with silent laughter. She had 
 looked so naughty, this big, handsome girl! And 
 how she had hated it! His eyes were compas- 
 sionate, even though he laughed. 
 
 "Oh, she'll learn, she'll learn," he assured 
 himself. He did not mean to put her to another 
 such test that day; yet, when a patient presently 
 gave a second opportunity, it seemed well to let
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 her know that her attitude had not been unob- 
 served. The face he showed at the open door 
 was entirely businesslike. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Joyce I need a little help," he 
 said pleasantly. "Will you kindly send Ann 
 Blossom here?" 
 
 He could not know how hard he struck. She 
 had been strung to resist a second appeal, but 
 she was wholly unready for this unreproachful 
 reproach, this patient turning to the ever-willing 
 Ann Blossom. A revealing glimpse of what 
 Ann's selflessness meant to others brought a 
 moment of poignant humility, taking her, step 
 by step, as far as the office door, but there the 
 flaming sword of pride stopped her. Turning 
 swiftly away, she went up-stairs in the direction 
 of Ann's singing. 
 
 The open door of her own room, as she re- 
 turned, showed a peaceful scene: Villum in bed 
 and Flippy in a big chair were both asleep. She 
 stole in and sat down by the boy, burying her hot 
 face in the pillow. 
 
 "You are the only person who cares whether 
 I live or die, Villum, and it's no wonder," she 
 said sadly. "You won't when you know a little 
 more." It was a remarkable speech from Cas- 
 sandra Joyce; as remarkable as the tears on her 
 eyelashes. 
 
 138
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Caspar had gone out before she went down- 
 stairs, and she scarcely saw him again that day. 
 He was back for dinner, but had little time to 
 eat it; he made time, however, to take Villum's 
 temperature and to pay a brief visit to Miss Snell, 
 who had again retreated to her room. On the 
 way out, he stopped by Cassandra, and there 
 was in his eyes a lurking glimmer that made her 
 feel both resentful and suddenly light-hearted. 
 
 "Villum's cold won't amount to anything 
 he has the constitution of an ox; but he may be 
 restless to-night," he began. " Suppose you have 
 his bed put into your room; I don't want Ann 
 Blossom to lose any sleep." 
 
 "While it doesn't matter about me?" The 
 light-heartedness was getting the upper hand. 
 
 "While it doesn't matter about you. I think 
 your Villum will prefer it." 
 
 "How about Flippy?" 
 
 "Oh, she is convinced now of our good faith. 
 You won't have any trouble with her," he said 
 comfortably, and drove away, taking Ernest with 
 him. 
 
 Flippy did object to having her Florizel sleep 
 so far from her, but when she understood that it 
 was by the doctor's orders she submitted, or 
 appeared to. After he had been tucked up for 
 the night, she came into the living-room where 
 
 139
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 the two girls were sitting at an ungenial distance 
 from each other, each with a book. Her eyes 
 were restlessly bright. 
 
 "My baby is asleep," she whispered with 
 cautioning pantomime. "Let's go out on the 
 verandah where we won't disturb him." Ann 
 rose at once, but she would not be satisfied until 
 Cassandra had put down her book and followed. 
 Neither paid much attention to her rapid chatter, 
 but she seemed content merely to have them with 
 her as she flitted about the paths in the mellow 
 light of the full moon. When she had established 
 them on a garden bench, she suddenly started 
 up, a finger lifted for silence. 
 
 "I thought I heard my baby," she exclaimed, 
 and flew off to the house. Ann smiled rather 
 timidly at her companion, whose abstracted grav- 
 ity made her seem forbidding. 
 
 "I will stay with her, if you want to go back 
 to your book," she offered. Cassandra refused 
 with an impatient motion of her head. 
 
 "My book is as stupid as everything else," she 
 added. 
 
 "Ah, if you only knew how really nice it is 
 here!" 
 
 "I dare say!" Cassandra dropped her fore- 
 head into her hands and returned to her own 
 thoughts. 
 
 140
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "You know, we really could give a tea for 
 you," Ann ventured presently. "Dr. Diman 
 knows everybody, and I'm sure he would do it. 
 He really likes social things when he can make 
 time for them." 
 
 Cassandra laughed, not unkindly. "'To meet 
 my hired assistant, Miss Joyce,'" she commented. 
 "No; teas are no remedy for my trouble. 
 But thank you just the same." The silence this 
 time lasted until Flippy came back. Neither 
 noticed how long she had been gone. 
 
 "He is sound asleep, my little boy," she an- 
 nounced, swaying back and forth in front of 
 them with lifted skirts and little dancing motions. 
 "I think his old Flippy will go to bed, too; she 
 is nearly asleep herself." She put both hands 
 over an exaggerated yawn, her bright little eyes 
 darting from one to the other. 
 
 "Shall I come and make you comfortable?" 
 Ann rose as she spoke, but was hurriedly pressed 
 down again. 
 
 "No, no; there mustn't be any noise. 'Good 
 night, sleep tight, don't let the " She van- 
 ished with a soft chuckle. 
 
 The girls soon followed, and Ann, feeling that 
 Cassandra would rather be alone, went up early 
 to her own room. An hour later, as she was 
 beginning to prepare for bed, a low knock sum- 
 
 141
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 moned her to the door. Cassandra, looking 
 startled, beckoned her away from the neighbour- 
 hood of Flippy 's room. 
 
 "Villum is not in his bed," she whispered. 
 
 Ann was startled, too, then laughed reassur- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Of course she has got him in with her. That 
 is why she decoyed us into the garden." They 
 stole back and cautiously opened Mrs. Thorn- 
 dyke's door. It was the only small room in that 
 huge house, and Ann's light, shining in, lighted 
 it even to the depths of the closet; but no Villum 
 was revealed. The narrow bed showed only the 
 small mound made by the sleeping Flippy. After 
 a long look, they closed the door in puzzled silence. 
 
 "Perhaps he has walked in his sleep or she 
 has hidden him somewhere," Ann suggested. 
 "Did you search your room?" 
 
 "No; I didn't think of it." 
 
 They went back hopefully and investigated 
 every corner of the big southeast chamber. Vil- 
 lum's bed still showed the impression of his 
 little body and his garments hung in the closet 
 where they had been put that morning, but there 
 was no trace of him there or in any of the adjoin- 
 ing rooms. With growing alarm they searched 
 all the empty chambers, then came back once 
 more to the small room next to Ann's. 
 
 142
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "He must be here," they whispered, and again 
 pushed open the door. The light revealed Flippy 
 still in the same posture of deep sleep and the 
 room, at first glance, as empty as ever. Then 
 Cassandra's hand closed sharply on Ann's and 
 she gave a quick jerk of her head towards the 
 bedside. The counterpane fell almost to the 
 floor, but just under its edge, near the head, they 
 could see three little fingers. 
 
 They were horribly still, those little fingers; 
 and Flippy's sleep seemed all at once to have 
 taken on a watchful rigidity. Seeing that Ann 
 had turned ghastly white, Cassandra closed the 
 door again and put her into the nearest chair. 
 Her own shaking knees forced her down on the 
 bed. 
 
 "She has put him to sleep there," Ann stam- 
 mered, her thin hands clinging to each other. 
 
 "Oh, yes; he's asleep;" Cassandra agreed 
 with an unmistakable gasp. "We must get him 
 away." 
 
 "If Dr. Diman were only here," Ann moaned. 
 "Miss Myrtle wouldn't be any use." 
 
 "No; but Hattie might." 
 
 "It is her evening out. She's never back till 
 late. You didn't see the fingers move at all, 
 did you?" 
 
 "No. And she isn't asleep, I am sure. She 
 143
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 is watching." They turned pale, listening faces 
 towards the closed door, but within there was no 
 sound. Cassandra took herself in hand. "We 
 can't let him sleep there, with his cold," she 
 announced firmly. "Suppose we were to cry 
 fire, and so get her out of her room long enough 
 to to take him?" 
 
 Ann shook her head. "That would be cheat- 
 ing her. It is just because she has been treated 
 that way so often that she won't trust us now." 
 
 "Then what can we do?" 
 
 Ann thought a moment, then rose tremblingly. 
 "I'll try, if you will stay near me," she whispered. 
 Cassandra nodded, and was surprised at the 
 girl's sudden courage as she boldly threw open the 
 door. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Thorndyke!" she called, her voice 
 troubled but steady. "I hate to disturb you, 
 but we have lost little Villum, and we are so 
 frightened." Flippy's eyes remained tightly shut, 
 though her hands moved. "Can't you help us 
 find him?" Ann begged. "It will be so bad for 
 his poor cold, and we're so frightened and un- 
 happy." She ended with a wholly genuine sob. 
 Flippy's eyes, bright with mischief, suddenly 
 opened on them; two little claws shot out and 
 caught at the counterpane. 
 
 "Peek-a-boo!" she cried, and lifted it on a 
 144
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 peaceful, deep-breathing Villum, banked with 
 cushions and rolled like an Eskimo in rugs. 
 
 "Oh, Flippy, how could you!" Ann cried, drop- 
 ping on her knees, the tears still running down 
 her cheeks. Flippy pouted. 
 
 "I don't see the harm. You said I could have 
 him," she added defiantly at Cassandra. 
 
 "Haven't you had him all day?" was the 
 reproachful answer. "And you were promised 
 him all to-morrow. It was not kind." Flippy 
 affected to whimper. 
 
 "I made him perfectly comfortable," she com- 
 plained. 
 
 "But it was not doing what Dr. Diman said," 
 interposed Ann. "You must put on your wrap- 
 per and help us take him back to bed." Some- 
 what to their surprise, Flippy yielded, following 
 meekly beside Cassandra, who had lifted the boy 
 without arousing him. They let her help to 
 settle him in his bed, and then Ann, with one of 
 her sympathetic inspirations, suggested that she 
 take Villum's little shoes back with her. Flippy 
 was charmed with the idea, and returned to put 
 them under her pillow. 
 
 "Now he can't get out of the house," she re- 
 joiced. "Though I really don't think you people 
 would cheat me," she added wistfully; "not the 
 way the others have."
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "We truly won't," Ann promised, closing the 
 door on her with a sigh of weariness and relief. 
 
 Villum, sound sleep, showed tightly screwed 
 eyelids with yellow lashes appealingly upcurled, 
 and a duckling babyishness of outline. Before 
 putting out her light, Cassandra leaned on one 
 elbow to look down at him. It was surprisingly 
 pleasant to have him there. The defenceless- 
 ness of him the helpless, rounded chin and 
 curled hands combined with the evening's 
 fright to stir new and unsuspected depths of 
 feeling. She bent nearer to him, one arm across 
 his body, her eyes darkened with an emotion 
 that was half warmth, half pain. Then she 
 turned away with a shrug and put out the light. 
 
 "They are nice," she admitted casually, as 
 though someone had caught her. 
 
 Hours later, in the deepest darkness of the 
 night, she was startled out of sleep by a sense of 
 something moving. She shot out a frightened 
 hand, and encountered the soft curve of a babyish 
 cheek. A little body, clambering blindly in the 
 dark, found her and curled up against her with 
 a long breath of content. For an instant she 
 lay rigid, all her imperious dread of contact 
 aroused. Then, as a little hand curled into her 
 neck, the restraint vanished. Her arms went out 
 to him and she drew him close, all the soft length 
 
 146
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 of him, pressing her lips against his hair and 
 forehead. Tears sprang into her eyes. 
 
 "Oh, one does want them!" she cried to her- 
 self, frightened at the sudden revelation, but 
 wonderfully glad. 
 
 The morning brought Mr. and Mrs. Charles 
 Thorndyke for Carlo's wife came with him. 
 The two suggested irresistibly a large, ornamen- 
 tal float, heading a procession, and its little, dark- 
 browed, practical steam attendant. After five 
 minutes of Carlo's decorative passivity, Caspar, 
 who had met them in the city, settled down com- 
 fortably to Mrs. Carlo, greatly encouraged by 
 her power of active listening. Her husband made 
 occasional comments to show that he understood, 
 but seemed equally interested in trying to see the 
 twisted point of his florid moustache; her busy- 
 minded silence was far more convincing. When 
 they left the train she brought out her con- 
 clusion : 
 
 "We'll just have to take her home with us. 
 I've been telling Carlo for two years that some- 
 one ought to look out for her," she added. 
 
 "I am afraid Flippy will be bored in Omaha," 
 Carlo observed resignedly. 
 
 "I guess you're more afraid you'll be," was 
 the matter-of-fact response. Her tone showed 
 
 147
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 neither resentment nor humour, and he answered 
 as dispassionately. 
 
 "Well, perhaps." 
 
 "You must take her quickly, so that the excite- 
 ment will carry her over the separation from the 
 little boy," Caspar suggested. "That is why I 
 have not told her you were coming: I wanted the 
 full effect of it to divert her." 
 
 Mrs. Carlo considered. "Is he a nice little 
 boy?" she asked presently. 
 
 "Very lovable." 
 
 "Orphan, you say." And she once more re- 
 lapsed into thought. 
 
 Mrs. Thorndyke and Villum sat on the floor 
 of the verandah, playing jackstones. Caspar 
 drove quickly past with his guests, returning 
 alone. 
 
 "Flippy, whom would you like best to see in 
 all the world?" he began. She glanced be- 
 wilderedly from him to Villum. 
 
 " My baby is right here," she explained. 
 
 "But you once had other babies, who are grown 
 men now. What if Carlo came?" 
 
 She sprang up. "Oh, do you think he will?" 
 she cried. "My boys can't come often, but they 
 do love their Flippy, truly. They never forget 
 me!" 
 
 "Of course not. And Carlo has come all the 
 148
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 way from Omaha to see you," he added, as slips 
 sounded on the gravel. 
 
 Carlo had stopped short, staring at the elab- 
 orately youthful figure, the withered little old 
 face, with something nearer to an expression 
 than Caspar had yet seen. For a moment he 
 was passive under his mother's passionate em- 
 brace ; then his arms took her quite off the ground. 
 
 "Why, you poor little old Flip!" he muttered. 
 
 Mrs. Carlo, after a composed glance at her 
 mother-in-law, had turned her business-like at- 
 tention on Villum. Out of the innocence of his 
 friendly heart, with no faintest intuition that his 
 whole future was at stake, he offered a tentative 
 smile to this new lady. She returned it gener- 
 ously, then gave Caspar a decisive nod. 
 
 "He's real cute," she said affirmatively. Cas- 
 par read her idea, and responded warmly. 
 
 "You couldn't find a dearer little boy," he 
 said, "if that is what you want." 
 
 "It's what I want; and Carlo never objects 
 to anything. He's too lazy," was the tranquil 
 answer, as she turned to greet Mrs. Thorndyke. 
 Her "Well, mother," was kindly, if unemotional. 
 Cassandra's mistake was, after all, bearing good 
 fruit. 
 
 And so it came about that when the Thorn- 
 dykes went West again, a placid little blond boy, 
 
 149
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 as well as an erratic mother, went with them. 
 Villum took the separation from Cassandra 
 calmly this time; no doubt he supposed that he 
 might any day wake up to find himself in her 
 bed. It was she who felt an unconfessed but 
 dragging weight of loneliness. 
 
 150
 
 VI 
 
 SEVERAL hard, bright, uninviting days had 
 swept by on a high wind, days of glaring blue 
 and white, made doubly depressing by abrupt 
 intervals of shadow when a cloud mass was spun 
 across the sun; charmless days, holding out no 
 temptations to dreamers. Then the wind fell 
 away and out of a magic stillness came a morning 
 tinted and softly blurred like an opal, milky 
 warm, odorous of earth and grass, a day when 
 every breath seemed to draw in with it some 
 miraculous promise of desires fulfilled. 
 
 Caspar sat tipped back at his desk, his morn- 
 ing mail before him, his eyes turned to the open 
 door. In the great hall beyond Cassandra was 
 working with a severe determination that he 
 found rather touching. She could do her work 
 remarkably well when she chose, having that 
 invaluable quality called "head" as well as 
 capable hands; and she was evidently trying hard, 
 this idyllic morning. Her splendid young body 
 was never crushed down into her tasks, as Ann's 
 was; she merely bent towards them, her gener-
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 ous shoulders as easily straight as when ;he 
 walked: her head drooped so little that her do\/n- 
 cast eyes were nearly covered by their lids. She 
 had no restless, nervous movements, even when 
 most impatient, and now, except for her swiftly 
 moving hand, she sat with a natural stillness that 
 deepened the impression of strength. The doc- 
 tor drew his eyes away with an impulse to a 
 sigh, abruptly quenched, and turned to his letters; 
 but the quality of the morning was like a sum- 
 mons from the open window. Presently he let 
 his pen drop and took up his engagement pad. 
 The day showed nothing that could not be put 
 off, and he rose to his feet with sudden buoy- 
 ancy. 
 
 "I have got to take a holiday," he declared. 
 Cassandra looked up with the derisive, one-sided 
 smile he had learned to watch for. 
 
 "I never heard you say that before!" 
 
 "There is something the matter; I can't work. 
 I want to take the next train up to the lake and 
 paddle all day in a canoe. What do you say?" 
 Her eyes fell again. 
 
 "I don't see why you shouldn't," she said 
 dispassionately, hiding a riotous hope. 
 
 "Ah, but I am inviting you." 
 
 "I accept with great pleasure." 
 
 "That's good. I will ask Myrtle to put us up
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 a lunch. You won't expect me to wear good 
 clothes, will you?" 
 
 Some of her secret joy slipped out disguised 
 as malice. "I didn't know you had any," she 
 said. He laughed, but returned the attack. 
 
 "Oh, I know you! You would rather be 
 paddled by an escaped convict in outing flannels 
 than by an archangel in his suspenders. Wouldn 't 
 you, now?" 
 
 "Vastly. I shall look just as handsome as 
 possible, myself." 
 
 "I have no quarrel with that!" He glanced 
 at his watch. "Can you achieve it in twenty 
 minutes?" 
 
 "Easily." 
 
 "Very well, then. We will take a car that 
 is quicker." He turned to the door, then paused. 
 "I wonder if Ann wouldn't like to come?" 
 
 The secret exultation dropped with crashing 
 suddenness. She had to stoop for a stray bit of 
 paper, to hide the angry flame in her cheeks. 
 
 "I am afraid Miss Blossom has gone up to 
 town," she said coolly. "Perhaps you can catch 
 her at the station if you hurry." 
 
 "Oh, no. She will have a better time buying 
 shoestrings and exchanging pearl buttons." He 
 smiled indulgently. "Ann isn't any too keen 
 on little boats, anyway." And he went off hum-
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 ming to make his preparations. Cassandra looked 
 after him with a hot sigh of exasperation; then 
 she forgave him and ran up-stairs. 
 
 The exhilaration came back as she dressed. 
 She tried to scoff at herself for being so happy - 
 "like a tenement child with a day in the coun- 
 try!" -but her satire ended in a laugh as she 
 pinned on a big white hat and caught up her 
 gloves. She found Caspar cutting sandwiches 
 while Miss Myrtle hunted wildly for. the bread 
 knife and lamented that there was not time to do 
 it properly. They had the basket packed by 
 the time the knife was found, and hurried away 
 unfeelingly from her prophecies of rain. 
 
 "Though it may," Caspar admitted, and 
 turned back from the gate for an umbrella. 
 When he reappeared, some new idea had sobered 
 his step. 
 
 "See here," he began, "there's Miss Snell 
 sitting all alone in the garden, with no Ann to 
 cheer her. Suppose we ask her to ride up on 
 the train with us? The excursion will do her 
 good, and she can come right back on the same 
 train: she wouldn't be equal to boating. What 
 do you say?" 
 
 "Oh, certainly that will be enchanting!" 
 Cassandra spoke with hollow geniality. "And I 
 will run round to the orphan asylum and gather
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 half a dozen children; they will add enormously. 
 And couldn't we stop at the Old Ladies' Home 
 for a few " 
 
 "Oh, come!" He walked on impatiently. 
 "I was not proposing it for my pleasure," he 
 deigned to explain, rather stiffly. 
 
 "Nor for mine, either, I suppose," she com- 
 mented, as they signalled a car. 
 
 The situation might have proved difficult but 
 for a delay and the conductor's subsequent doubt 
 of their making their train, which furnished excuse 
 for forgetting the momentary encounter. Smoth- 
 ered railing at leisurely passengers who per- 
 sisted in mounting and dismounting brought 
 them in complete good humour to the station 
 platform just in time. Cassandra paused on 
 the car steps for a mischievous glance back. 
 
 "We are actually off!" she exclaimed in exag- 
 gerated relief. 
 
 "Oh, I thought we should catch it," said Cas- 
 par, not understanding. 
 
 " Oh, yes. But I was so afraid you would bring 
 that fat old lady in the soiled red flannel blouse. 
 And when the lame boy with the bandaged head 
 got on well, I still don't see how you resisted 
 him!" 
 
 Personal attack always afforded Caspar deep 
 enjoyment. His laugh under it had a startled
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 quality that was one of her small daily triumphs; 
 there was an inexplicable delight in holding him 
 up to his own surprised and amused gaze. 
 
 "I suppose I look a tremendous crank to you," 
 he admitted as they crunched down the cindery 
 aisle. It was a shabby little way train with seats 
 of disreputable red velvet, yet it had for Cassandra 
 an air subtly festive. The very smell of smoke 
 and dust was stimulating. She took her seat 
 with a happy sense of possession; not even a 
 telephone could reach them now. 
 
 "Well, Diman! Of all the luck! Just as I 
 was wishing- One of the half dozen pas- 
 sengers had started up, arresting Caspar in the 
 aisle. He was evidently a physician: Cassandra 
 caught fragmentary references to a consultation 
 and "extraordinary developments" through the 
 rattle of the train. The two stood talking for 
 several minutes with growing absorption, then 
 automatically moved into the empty seat across 
 the aisle. Ten minutes went by, and still Cas- 
 par had not spared so much as a glance for his 
 rightful companion. He seemed to be giving 
 advice to the younger man, who listened with 
 eager interest. 
 
 Having stayed so long, it was fortunate that he 
 stayed longer, for Cassandra's spirit, was making 
 a difficult journey from mortification, through 
 
 156
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 hot wrath to a bewildered humility. She knew 
 that it was funny, this attempt to picnic with an 
 incorrigible humanitarian, but she could not 
 laugh yet. Out of the final humility rose a 
 sickening suspicion. She had congratulated him 
 on getting away without attendant derelicts; but, 
 after all, had he? What was she? Had he not 
 asked her in the same spirit of kindliness that 
 suggested Miss Snell? 
 
 "Why not? I am nothing to him personally. 
 He is simply sorry," was her abject conclusion 
 as the trip came to an end. 
 
 "You could not go with me, of course," said 
 the younger man; and Cassandra had reached 
 so low a point that she was breathlessly grateful 
 for Caspar's prompt, 
 
 "I am afraid not. Let me know how it comes 
 out," he added, gathering up basket and um- 
 brella. "Here we are, Miss Joyce." 
 
 The lake lay before them in enchanted still- 
 ness, opal blue, with misty edges. Cassandra 
 took her place on the cushions in passive silence, 
 while Caspar threw off coat and hat and broke the 
 mirroring surface with a long stroke of the paddle. 
 The canoe shot away from the landing and for 
 several minutes there was no sound but the drip of 
 water. Then the paddle stopped and Cassandra, 
 glancing up, met a look of friendly inquiry.
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Well?" he queried. She tried to smile. 
 
 "Well?" she returned. 
 
 "Why aren't you as happy as I am?" 
 
 Her impulse to honest speech could never long 
 be kept under. "I think I was feeling a little 
 lonely," she admitted. He looked disconcerted. 
 
 "I don't care for that!" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Oh, not now but on the train." 
 
 "Oh! That was rather rude of me;" with 
 surprised contrition; "but Barker had such a 
 confoundedly interesting case on ' 
 
 "It wasn't that it was rude," she interrupted. 
 "What hurt was that it was middle-aged." 
 
 "Middle-aged!" She had obviously hit there. 
 "Girl, do you know how old I am?" 
 
 "What does it matter? To take a pretty lady 
 out for the day," she smiled faint apology for the 
 phrase, "and then desert her at the first chance 
 - that is middle-aged. And I am young, you 
 see. So it made you seem oh, rather remote, 
 that is all." 
 
 She felt a pang of compunction when she saw 
 how his face had clouded, but she told herself 
 hotly that it was right, that he ought to under- 
 stand. After a difficult silence, he spoke with 
 obvious effort. 
 
 "The curious thing is that I was not remote 
 at all. I was conscious of you every moment: 
 
 158
 
 you were a pleasant fact right there that I could 
 turn to the instant business was done. I was so 
 thoroughly with you, it never occurred to me 
 that you would not know it." 
 
 "Now you make me ashamed." 
 
 "Well, I think you should be." 
 
 "Ah, but it is so dreadful to feel oneself a dere- 
 lict, a case," she burst out. "You see, I have 
 always gone to things in the character of a proud 
 beauty and in my world that meant impor- 
 tance." 
 
 "Even in mine it has its place," he said dryly. 
 She went on without heeding him. 
 
 "And then to feel suddenly that you are taken 
 somewhere out of kindness, to give you an outing 
 and a good time: that your presence isn't a fa- 
 vour to others, but a piece of good luck for you - 
 can't you see how that would hurt ? if you were 
 horrid and spoiled, like me?" 
 
 He laughed out at the earnestness of the final 
 appeal. 
 
 "It needn't," he assured her. "I solemnly 
 promise that I will never take you anywhere out 
 of benevolence. I certainly had no such idea in 
 asking you to-day." 
 
 "Then it is all right," she said, holding out her 
 hand. "Isn't it?" she added, as though she 
 felt some lack of response in his ready clasp.
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Yes for this time;" his fingers tightened 
 before they released hers. "But you proud 
 beauties have so many ways of being hurt. I 
 shall wound you again and again, never mean- 
 ing to, never knowing it unless you tell me." 
 
 "Well, I shall be rather apt to let you know," 
 she said cheerfully, and the shadow passed, leav- 
 ing them on a new footing of intimacy and under- 
 standing. 
 
 "Middle-aged!" He went back to it with 
 humorous resentment. "That was a nice word 
 to hand a man who is barely forty!" She looked 
 him over with eyes that missed nothing of his 
 muscular vigour, his alert poise on the little seat, 
 the vitality that underlay the sunny warmth of 
 his contented eyes; but she would not take it 
 back. 
 
 "You are," she insisted. It was a challenge, 
 and he met it squarely. 
 
 "Some day I may show you that I am not." 
 There was an unexpected significance in his voice 
 that set her nerves vibrating, but she held bravely 
 to her attack and the note of amusement. 
 
 "You would have to do something very rash, 
 very selfish and unwise, to convince me," she 
 warned him. 
 
 "Something that middle age might consider 
 rash, selfish, and unwise," he corrected her with
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 a deepening smile that inexplicably brought a 
 flush to her cheeks. "Youth is always right from 
 its own point of view. Well, I may yet, Cassandra 
 Joyce!" And he threw back his head with a 
 laugh so boyishly mischievous that she started 
 up in intolerable confusion. 
 
 "I want to paddle," she announced abruptly. 
 He would not let her change her seat until he had 
 brought them close to the bank. 
 
 "Young as I am, I am not rash about canoes," 
 he assured her, and kept a steadying hand on a 
 low branch while she moved into the bow. 
 
 With two paddles, the boat was presently going 
 at a new pace. They had left the drowsy green 
 shores, and were cutting a furrow down a pale 
 expanse so glassily still that they almost looked 
 to see it splinter against the sharp bow. To Cas- 
 sandra it was a race between them, a boastful 
 endurance race. Her eyes were fixed straight 
 ahead, gravely steady, her mouth was smileless; 
 only the exultant plunge of her bared arm showed 
 her excitement. The minutes swung by, fifteen, 
 twenty of them, but there was no relaxing of the 
 hot pace. She would have kept it up till she fell, 
 but at last Caspar cried out for quarter, letting 
 his paddle drop. She turned a flushed, trium- 
 phant face back at him. 
 
 "Oh, tenderfoot!" 
 
 161
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Not at all. I could have gone on indefi- 
 nitely if it had been necessary. But why broil 
 ourselves for no purpose?" 
 
 She dipped her hand reflectively into the 
 water. "Perhaps, at your age, it is better not," 
 she assented. 
 
 He met it gravely this time. 
 
 "Did I seem elderly to you when I first met 
 you at Miss Joyce's?" he asked. 
 
 "Why, I don't know. You were the doctor 
 to me, then. I had not begun to think of you as 
 a man at all." He smiled to himself at the im- 
 plied admission. 
 
 "What a wretched time that was for you!" 
 
 "How did I seem to you?" 
 
 "Very brave and very ignorant. But I had 
 no idea what a tight place you were in. You 
 were so well dressed and so cocksure generally, 
 it didn't occur to me until that day after the 
 funeral that you might be in money difficulties.'* 
 
 They were drifting along the banks, and she 
 had laid her paddle across her knees, half turn- 
 ing her head towards him. 
 
 "What made you think it then?" 
 
 "Do you remember, I happened to say to 
 you, 'What shall you do now?' 'I don't know,' 
 you said, and it suddenly came to me that you 
 were frightened." 
 
 162
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "I can assure you, I was!" 
 
 "But why you had hidden it so from me ! 
 You tried to dodge me even then, but, thank 
 heaven, I never did mind rushing in." 
 
 "I have noticed that." 
 
 "Better be grateful for it, young woman! Do 
 you remember how I finally cornered you with, 
 'Just how much money have you got in the 
 world?'" 
 
 "And I said, 'Twenty dollars.'" 
 
 "Yes; as coolly as if it were twenty thousand. 
 But your eyes filled." 
 
 "That isn't the only time you have made me 
 cry." 
 
 "Poor dear! But that was the only time you 
 hated me for it, wasn't it? You wouldn't lower 
 your eyes or look away. You had a mighty 
 pride, Cassandra." 
 
 "Have," she corrected him. 
 
 "It isn't as bad as it was." 
 
 "I suppose I was just 'a case' to you, as you 
 were just 'the doctor' to me." 
 
 "I don't know I think you were always more 
 than that to me." His tone was quite matter-of- 
 fact. "I wonder if it isn't lunch time?" 
 
 They made the joyful discovery that it was long 
 
 past lunch time, and headed for a hidden cove 
 
 vhere Caspar remembered a spring of pure water, 
 
 163
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 as well as a sandy beach and a pine grove. So 
 effectually was it hidden from the lake that they 
 were well inside before they discovered that a 
 picnic party of four already held possession. 
 Before they could sheer off again, an excited 
 voice had hailed them. A stout little middle- 
 aged woman in an ancient pink silk blouse and 
 a still older blue serge skirt had run down tp 
 the water's edge, signalling violently with a ginger 
 beer bottle. 
 
 "Dr. Diman!" she cried. At the name three 
 young girls started up, dropping plates and cups. 
 
 "Dr. Diman!" they repeated in ecstatic wel- 
 come. 
 
 With a startled, "Upon my word!" Caspar 
 beached the canoe and stepped past Cassandra 
 to let his hands be taken by as many claimants 
 as could get possession. 
 
 "Mrs. Honeywell!" His welcome was as 
 hearty as theirs. "And I was wondering about 
 you only yesterday. What luck!" 
 
 "My goodness gracious! To go on a picnic 
 and find you!" she marvelled. She had a high, 
 metallic voice that sawed on sensitive eardrums, 
 but her face, round and innocently rosy under 
 a wispy attempt at a pompadour, was all warmth 
 and softness. 
 
 "It is the first I have had since you left us. 
 164
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 How are you? Why haven't you sent me a line 
 now and then?" 
 
 "Too well nothing to say," she laughed; 
 then took his hands again, her face sobering. 
 "But I remember, every morning and every 
 night, who I owe it to," she added. 
 
 He was fairly shining down on her. "You owe 
 the greater part of it to yourself, my dear friend! 
 It's splendid to see you like this. Dear me, look 
 at these great creatures how they have grown!" 
 
 "Whales, aren't they," assented their mother 
 proudly. "We had a horse and surrey lent us 
 for the day, so off we had to come. Of course 
 you are going to lunch with us we can't let you 
 go." 
 
 He turned back to Cassandra, two of the girls 
 clinging to his arms. 
 
 "Miss Joyce, you must come and meet Mrs. 
 Honeywell," he said, the pleasure of the encounter 
 still lighting his face. "And these are the three 
 young Honeywells Tom, Dick, and Harry." 
 
 A burst of girlish laughter and an "Oh, Dr. 
 Diman!" greeted this. Cassandra, bravely hid- 
 ing her dismay, had left the canoe to meet Mrs. 
 Honeywell's impetuous advance. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I've heard all about Miss Joyce," 
 was the disconcerting greeting. "Isn't it all too 
 perfectly lovely, and just exactly like him?" 
 
 '65
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Cassandra assented, bewildered, but making a 
 soul- wrenching effort at cordiality; and wonder- 
 ing in a detached aside how so harsh a voice could 
 coexist with eyes of such beaming warmth. 
 
 "You're in the loveliest hands God ever made," 
 Mrs. Honeywell went on impressively as the girls 
 seized on Caspar's attention. "I don't suppose 
 you've heard about me, Miss Joyce, but I tried 
 to have melancholia five years ago you won't 
 believe it of a fat, jolly-looking thing like me, but 
 I did and he just wouldn 't let me. I lived in 
 his house all winter, with the girls at the best 
 school money could find his money, mind 
 you! And we just think there's nobody like him 
 on this earth." 
 
 "I don't wonder," said Cassandra, reluctant 
 lips driven to a smile. 
 
 "He's so busy, I never like to bother him, but 
 it 's perfectly great, seeing him like this. Doctor, 
 I'm telling Miss Joyce that I feel as if I'd had a 
 big, fat Christmas present, coming on you this 
 way. We've got loads of sandwiches 
 
 "So have we," interposed Caspar, getting out 
 the basket as though their staying was a matter 
 of course. Cassandra lingered by the canoe 
 under the pretext of pulling it farther up the 
 beach. She was not angry, this time; only 
 grievously, childishly disappointed. All the 
 
 1 66
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 morning the prospect of their lunch hour, of 
 lounging on the warm ground in the intimacy of 
 the little feast, had stood out as the bright goal 
 of the day. They might clash before, or even 
 after, but that hour must surely be all happiness. 
 And now the precious time had been handed 
 over to a gushing woman and three noisy girls 
 and he was just as content. He did not even 
 notice that she had stayed behind. It was at 
 that point in her silent lament that his voice 
 broke in. 
 
 "Come, Miss Joyce, or your sandwiches will 
 get cold," he called, rousing a chorus of giggles. 
 He was standing with a hand out to pull her up 
 the bank, and his eyes looked straight down into 
 hers, a look so comprehending and warm that 
 she had to forgive it for being also masterful and 
 merry. It offered no apology, but it said, "I 
 know!" and with that she was suddenly soothed 
 and cheered. She would not admit that she had 
 understood, but she took her seat with a good 
 grace, and the girls, who also knew her story, 
 found her "perfectly grand." Nevertheless, it 
 was a long meal to her, and it might have been 
 longer but for a sudden darkening of the sun- 
 light. Looking out from under their pines, 
 they discovered that the misty edges of the sky 
 were gathering into puffy masses with mischief in 
 
 167
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 their shining depths. Miss Myrtle's rain began 
 to look only too plausible. Mrs. Honeywell 
 longed to drive them to the station, as the surrey 
 had a top, and they could all squeeze in as well 
 as not, but Caspar resisted with easy firmness, 
 and in a blessedly short time they were seated in 
 the canoe, the three young Honeywells clustered 
 to push it off, and their mother still pouring out 
 her voluble affection from the bank. 
 
 "Well, I do declare, Doctor, it's been just the 
 loveliest thing that ever happened! The girls 
 and I'll talk about it for weeks. But if you get 
 wet going back, I'll never forgive myself, never. 
 Don't you think you'd better change your 
 mind " 
 
 But the canoe was already backing about. A 
 moment later, with good-bys and wavings, they 
 had slipped out into the silence of the lake. Cas- 
 par looked about the darkened horizon, then 
 settled himself on his seat with an air of getting 
 down to business. 
 
 "Now we've got to paddle, my dear girl," he 
 said, and the little phrase wiped out all the weary 
 impatience of the past hour and a half. Cassandra 
 bent to her work without answering: the boat 
 seemed full of a peace and harmony that needed 
 no words. 
 
 The mirror had been broken by schools of brisk 
 168
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 ripples that presently leaped up into waves. The 
 two were racing again, both together now against 
 the coming thunderstorm. Once or twice, as 
 the waves increased under the squally bursts of 
 wind, Caspar called out, "Shall we land?" but 
 received a silent shake of the head for answer. 
 For half an hour they plunged through a sea of 
 white caps that would have meant disaster to 
 less steady hands and heads. Figures at the 
 boat-house gathered to watch them, and a row- 
 boat was got ready, but the canoe came on so 
 strongly and fearlessly that it was not sent out. 
 Just as a peal of thunder shook the first great 
 drops out of the clouds, their paddles were 
 lifted to grip the landing. 
 
 Cassandra sprang out with little help from the 
 admiring hands held down to her. 
 
 "Wasn't it splendid," she exclaimed, as they 
 ran up the steep bank to the station. 
 
 "You were splendid," he echoed. "I should 
 not have dared to try it with any other woman I 
 know. But your poor skirt!" 
 
 She laughed at her drenched linen. "We only 
 shipped three or four waves, but of course I got 
 them," she said cheerfully. "Oh, listen!" 
 
 It was impossible to do anything but listen for 
 the next half hour: all creation seemed to be 
 smashing under the great rolls, and the rain on 
 
 169
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 the roof was in itself a lesser thunder. Dr. Di- 
 man paced about station and platform with a 
 touch of restlessness, but Cassandra, on the 
 hacked wooden bench, was very still. All day 
 she had been longing to go back to some words of 
 the morning, to take them out and feel again the 
 thrill of their possible meaning. " Something 
 that middle age might consider rash, selfish, and 
 unwise;" and then his mischievous laughter. 
 What could it have meant? And why at that 
 moment had the little boat seemed to possess veins 
 with running sap in them currents of unseen 
 life? "I may yet, Cassandra Joyce;" and then, 
 "You were always more than that to me:" 
 the words stirred, warmed, and disheartened her 
 in turn as she sat staring into them. On the train 
 going back they still held half her thoughts. 
 
 At their station they found Ann Blossom just 
 back from town with her buttons and shoestrings, 
 and waiting for the dwindling rain to cease. The 
 joy of her amazed welcome seemed dispropor- 
 tionate to a day's separation; yet the shining of 
 her happy face was reflected in Caspar's. 
 
 "That is the rash, youthful thing he will 
 make love to Ann Blossom," thought Cassandra, 
 as she followed them to a carriage. She was 
 suddenly conscious that she was tired, and that 
 her skirts were wet. 
 
 170
 
 VII 
 
 CASPAR'S holiday was over when they reached 
 the house. Important messages were demanding 
 answers, and an impatient motor was waiting 
 to whirl him away to a consultation. It was eight 
 o'clock before he reappeared, tired and hungry. 
 The dinner had not been of a sort to warm up 
 happily. He looked dubiously at the plates Miss 
 Myrtle set before him, then, for the first time in 
 years, made a protest. 
 
 "Aren't there some chops or a steak I could 
 have, Myrtle? This isn't exactly tempting 
 and I'm dog tired." 
 
 "Why, of course there isn't, Caspar. We can't 
 keep things like a hotel. Besides, Ronsard has 
 gone out and Hattie is washing up." 
 
 "Oh, well!" He went at his shrivelled din- 
 ner with a resignation that his sister resented. 
 
 "It is so like a man, to expect a house to run 
 like a club," she lamented. "If you had to do 
 the housekeeping for a while " 
 
 "Very well, I will," he interrupted with an 
 unexpected touch of irritability. "I have been 
 meaning to for some time. You can go to Aunt 
 
 171
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Jennie's the first thing in the morning; and I 
 will run the house for a week." 
 
 "But, Caspar" 
 
 "I don't want to discuss it. I intend to find 
 out if housekeeping is as overwhelming a task as 
 you women seem to think." He was outwardly 
 amiable again, but inflexible. "Pack up this 
 evening and I will send you over right after 
 breakfast." 
 
 "But, Caspar" 
 
 "Now, Myrtle, you have been bewailing your 
 hard lot for ten years. It is time I took hold and 
 investigated. Do you know Aunt Jennie's num- 
 ber?" He left his dinner to telephone, and Miss 
 Myrtle went agitatedly to collect her belongings. 
 For half the night she could be heard, mysteri- 
 ously occupied with the packing of her bag. In 
 the morning she would have devoted an hour 
 or two to final orders, but her brother inter- 
 rupted and firmly saw her off. 
 
 "You'll have to tell everything to Hattie; that 
 Frenchman is no earthly use," was her final 
 warning, called over the carriage wheel. 
 
 Caspar came back with an air of having cleared 
 the decks for action, and sought his assistant. 
 
 "I want some advice," he began, seating him- 
 self on the arm of the nearest chair. "You know 
 I am to do the housekeeping this week." 
 
 172
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Shan't I do it for you?" 
 
 "No; I mean to find out just how hard it is to 
 order three meals a day and keep a few people 
 comfortable. I can't believe that it need take 
 all an able-bodied person's time. Now don't you 
 think I could give Hattie a written menu for the 
 day's meals every morning? I've made one out 
 for to-day." 
 
 "Of course. And make her give you a list of 
 just what is needed." 
 
 "That is a good idea. Why, this is going to be 
 very easy. I prophesy that it won't take me fif- 
 teen minutes a day." And he strode off to the 
 kitchen. 
 
 Hattie heard of the new arrangement in unre- 
 sponsive silence. Taking the carefully written 
 menu between thumb and forefinger, she read it 
 distantly. 
 
 "Miss Myrtle always has boiled mutton for 
 Tuesdays," was her only comment. 
 
 "Always? Every Tuesday?" 
 
 "I been here five years and she ain't missed it 
 once." 
 
 "Odd I should not have noticed it!" Hattie 
 obviously did not think it odd; her expression 
 implied that that was just what she should have 
 expected. "Do we have regular things on other 
 days, too?"
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 " Every day but Saturday; and then it's always 
 chops or steak." 
 
 "That is very surprising. I don't care for the 
 idea at all. Is there any objection to having 
 chickens to-night?" 
 
 " Can't have them Wednesday, then." 
 
 "But I don't wish them Wednesday!" He 
 was beginning to find Hattie trying. "Now I 
 want you to make a list of everything the house 
 needs for to-day and bring it to me in fifteen 
 minutes. If anything is forgotten, it will have 
 to go over till to-morrow." And he retreated 
 hastily to his office. 
 
 On the desk lay a pile of rough notes, materials 
 for an address, to be delivered that evening, and 
 for which his engagement pad allowed him only 
 the next two out of the coming eleven hours. He 
 had had just time to become wholly immersed in 
 his subject when a thump on the door heralded 
 Hattie. 
 
 "Ice man," she announced. 
 
 "What?" He looked up bewilderedly. 
 
 "Ice man. How much ice do you want?" she 
 condescended to explain. 
 
 "How much? Why, the usual quantity, I 
 suppose. How much does my sister order?" 
 
 "According to what's left in the refrigerator." 
 
 "Well, what is left?"
 
 "Ain't none there at all." 
 
 "Then get enough! Use your intelligence, 
 Hattie!" 
 
 "Do you mean one hundred pounds or fifty?" 
 she asked unmoved. 
 
 "You'd better get a hundred, hadn't you?" 
 
 "Refrigerator won't hold but seventy-five." 
 
 "Good Lord, woman! Then get seventy- 
 five." 
 
 "Seventy-five, then," said Hattie, and stumped 
 away. 
 
 "I begin to feel for Myrtle," Caspar murmured, 
 returning to his address. 
 
 Five minutes later she was back. "Garbage 
 man," she stated baldly. 
 
 "Well?" he demanded with suspended pen. 
 
 "He's here." 
 
 "What of it?" 
 
 "Ain't you going to pay him? It's the day." 
 
 "Oh, I see." He pulled out some money with 
 suppressed impatience. "Have you got that list 
 ready? I don't want to be interrupted again." 
 
 She made no answer, but presently returned 
 with a slip of paper. His lips twitched over the 
 spelling. 
 
 "Very well. Order those things yourself when 
 the boy comes," he said, returning the list. She 
 took it reluctantly.
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "You'll not see him yourself?" 
 
 " There is no need." 
 
 "Well." There was a world of objection in 
 her tone, but she gave no further expression to 
 it. For half an hour he wrote undisturbed; then 
 he was rudely dragged from his happy absorption 
 by the announcement, 
 
 "He says chickens is twenty-eight cents." The 
 news had to be repeated before it conveyed any 
 meaning to him. 
 
 "Twenty-eight cents apiece?" he inquired. 
 Her look was almost pitying. 
 
 "Twenty-eight cents a pound." 
 
 "I see. Is that very high?" 
 
 "When they're over twenty-five cents, Miss 
 Myrtle buys 'fowl and has a fricasee." 
 
 "Oh, I think twenty-eight cents won't ruin us;" 
 and he resumed his pen. 
 
 "He's got nice mutton, if you'd like a boiled 
 leg," Hattie observed. 
 
 "We will have just what I have ordered, Hat- 
 tie." His voice had an edge, and she turned 
 stolidly away, but paused to add, 
 
 "The man's come to look at the range. Will 
 you talk to him?" 
 
 " I am too busy. If it is out of order, tell him 
 to fix it." And he went to work with a finality 
 that even Hattie had to respect. Nevertheless, 
 
 176
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 she was back four times in the next hour. When 
 his most difficult passage was broken in on to 
 find seven cents change for the rags and bottles 
 man, he ran wild fingers into his hair and went 
 desperately to Cassandra. 
 
 " It 's awful ! " he burst forth. "How do women 
 stand it? I thought I should teach Myrtle a 
 lesson, but great goodness ! Get her back 
 this afternoon, will you with my humblest 
 apologies? Only she ought to have a rest, poor 
 soul she has earned it." 
 
 She laughed at him, finding his despair very 
 endearing. "It need not be half so bad as it 
 is," she explained. "Miss Myrtle has no sys- 
 tem. Why don't you let me do it for you?" 
 
 He was sorely tempted, but he resisted. "No; 
 I must straighten it out myself, and I must prove 
 that it need not be so hard, or Myrtle will bully 
 me for the rest of my days. I'll manage some 
 way only I won't have boiled mutton for din- 
 ner every Tuesday." 
 
 "You shan't," she assured him with an indul- 
 gence that brought their eyes together. 
 
 "None the worse for yesterday?" he asked. 
 
 "Much the better, thank you." 
 
 "Shall we do it again some day?" 
 
 She was very glad, but she smiled mockingly. 
 "Two holidays in one year! You!" 
 
 177
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "I shall need two a week if I have many more 
 such mornings. How women ever manage to 
 do anything else " 
 
 "Ice pick's broke." Hattie launched the in- 
 formation from the doorway without even the 
 cough of preface and apology. Caspar turned 
 on her. 
 
 "Hattie, if the house falls down, don't you come 
 to me again this morning! I have given orders 
 enough to run a hotel do the best you can and 
 leave me in peace!" And he sternly shut the 
 cloor of his office on household affairs. 
 
 Hattie retreated without comment, and was 
 not again heard from until they were summoned 
 to the luncheon table. An empty butter dish 
 demanded explanation. 
 
 " Butter 'n eggs man didn't come;" her de- 
 tachment was perfect. 
 
 "What does Miss Myrtle do when he doesn't 
 come?" demanded her employer. 
 
 "He always does come. Ain't never failed 
 before." 
 
 "Are there no grocery stores in this town?" 
 
 "I hadn't any orders to leave my work and go 
 get it." Hattie's tone was not insolent; merely 
 matter-of-fact. 
 
 "A lunch with no butter " began Miss Snell 
 in unhappy protest. Ann sprang up.
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Go slowly, all of you," she called gaily, and ran 
 out. In less than ten minutes she was back with 
 a fresh pat, and Miss Snell, who had sat with her 
 hands folded in exaggerated patience, because one 
 could not begin without butter, allowed herself to 
 be appeased. But Caspar's serenity was still a 
 little clouded when they rose from the table. 
 
 "This housekeeping is a very complex busi- 
 ness," he admitted to Cassandra. "I don't sup- 
 pose the girl could go out and buy things without 
 some authority. And yet to have one's work 
 broken in on for every delinquent butterman - 
 I can't believe it's necessary. We must get a 
 system." 
 
 "We must," Cassandra admitted, not without 
 mischief. 
 
 "Well, what are you jeering at now?" 
 
 "I was only thinking that you really do look a 
 little like Miss Myrtle. I never noticed it before. 
 Housekeeping seems to bring it out." 
 
 He laughed, his quick, startled laugh, at the 
 jibe as he turned to his waiting carriage. 
 
 "I see I shall have to go to Ann Blossom for 
 sympathy," he observed. "I am off now. I 
 think dinner is all right; it ought to be." 
 
 "I am sympathetic!" She called it after him 
 with impulsive abruptness. He smiled and nodded 
 back at her. 
 
 179
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "I know!" he assured her. 
 
 Dinner would have been all right but for the 
 storeroom keys, which Miss Myrtle had handed 
 over to Caspar with earnest injunctions, and 
 which, once in his pocket, had been completely 
 forgotten. As his written menu demanded in- 
 gredients securely locked up, he found Ronsard 
 in a panic of nerves and Hattie waiting for him in 
 grim patience when he came peacefully home at 
 the end of the day. 
 
 "Dinner '11 be an hour late," Hattie explained 
 in her most "Don't blame me" tone. Caspar 
 handed over the keys with apologetic haste. 
 
 "Quite right, Hattie it was all my fault. 
 Never mind the pudding just tell Ronsard to 
 get dinner as quickly as possible. I have to 
 leave early." 
 
 "Ain't you coming to give out the stores?" 
 
 "Certainly not. Get what is wanted." 
 
 "Miss Myrtle won't like it." 
 
 "I can't help that." And he cut short the dis- 
 cussion by walking off. "Really, housekeeping 
 is very hard on the temper," he reflected. "Six 
 days more of it ! Whew!" 
 
 Dinner was very late, and he had to leave in 
 the middle to deliver his address. When, an hour 
 later, he rose to face his audience, buoyantly 
 secure, enjoying their welcoming applause and
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 the power of his own voice, Hattie, seated at the 
 kitchen table with pen and ink, was laboriously 
 writing as follows : 
 
 Miss MYRTLE, 
 
 I promised to report, so I do. Things is going every whitch 
 way. He tries, but he's got no head for it. He went off with 
 the storeroom keys so the dinner was late. He don't like to 
 be asd questions 'and then theres no butter for lunch. Miss 
 Snel most had a tantrum about it. Several things is broke 
 and ought to be replaced. The ice pik. The can opener. I 
 forgot to tell you Villum broke a little bowel. One of the 
 blue and white mush ones. He don't give out the stores, so I 
 have to take whats wanted. We will do the best we can. 
 
 Hoping you are enjoying good health. 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 HATTIE. 
 
 This was folded into one of the stamped and 
 addressed envelopes Miss Myrtle had provided, 
 and put into the post. Then Hattie counted the 
 silver into the basket and carried it up to Dr. 
 Diman's room. He should not shirk all his 
 responsibilities, her manner of setting it down 
 implied. 
 
 Caspar awoke the next morning to a sense of 
 heavy care. His mind flew at once to his cases, 
 but none of them at that moment was adequate 
 cause for the gloom that enveloped him. Then 
 a step in the hall brought a mutter of enlighten- 
 ment: that confounded housekeeping! 
 
 The step prefaced a knock on his door. It 
 181
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 seemed that no orders for breakfast had been 
 issued. 
 
 "But, Hattie, don't we always have cereal and 
 eggs ?" he protested without rising. 
 
 "Which cereal? There's five in the house." 
 
 "Oh cracked wheat." 
 
 "Takes six hours to cook." 
 
 "Well, then, any other. It doesn't matter." 
 
 "Miss Myrtle always had rolled oats on 
 Wednesday I don't suppose you'd want 
 that." Evidently Hattie still cherished a griev- 
 ance on the score of Tuesday's boiled mutton. 
 
 "Yes, certainly. And poach the eggs." 
 
 "You had 'em that way yesterday." 
 
 "Did we? I don't see that it matters. How- 
 ever, have an omelet. " 
 
 "Well. The kitchen fasset needs a new washer. 
 It's wastin' all the hot water." 
 
 "I will see you about everything when I come 
 down." His tone dismissed her, as she admitted 
 with a patient, 
 
 "You'll have to give me the silver if I'm to 
 lay the table." He passed it out, and closed the 
 door with a sigh. 
 
 "Six days more!" he murmured; then, "Poor 
 old Myrtle!" 
 
 After breakfast he reluctantly sat down to 
 composing the day's bill of fare. It seemed all 
 
 182
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 at once an impossibly distasteful and difficult 
 business what did people eat, anyway ? He 
 could not turn to Cassandra, for she had gone up 
 to town to lunch with an old friend asking "a 
 day off" with sham meekness that was scarcely 
 respectful, and that left him smiling deeply after 
 her. Ann had disappeared, so he had to struggle 
 with soups and desserts as best he could. He 
 was uncomfortably aware that his menu had an 
 amateur quality when he carried it out to the 
 kitchen. 
 
 Ronsard was all welcome and beautiful defer- 
 ence. 
 
 "Whatever monsieur orders, if it is within my 
 poor powers!" he declared, with a bow to the 
 list, which his eyes were too dim to read. Hattie 
 wasted no time in generalities. 
 
 "The man's coming to fix the range," she 
 announced. "Do you want to put him off?" 
 
 "Why, no." 
 
 "You can't have a hot lunch, then. Did you 
 mean canned asparagus?" 
 
 "Certainly not: fresh." 
 
 "Well. It's been out of season for six weeks, 
 that's all. And you can't have prune pudding 
 without you soak the prunes over night." 
 
 Caspar took back the paper with an exasper- 
 ated tightening of his jaw. Revising it to suit 
 
 '83
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 what the market afforded and what Miss Snell 
 would eat took twenty minutes of his precious 
 morning. When at last he had made his escape, 
 the man for the range insisted on an interview 
 and showed an irrepressible tendency to relate 
 the entire history of his twenty years' experience of 
 ranges in support of his claim that a new water- 
 back was needed. When it had "been ordered, 
 recklessly, for the sake of freedom, a bare five 
 minutes of peace intervened before the announce- 
 ment that they hadn't any melons to-day, and 
 would he order something else. Then Miss 
 Snell, hearing that the range was disabled, had a 
 panic about her second hot water, and had to be 
 personally reassured with a spirit lamp. And, ten 
 minutes later, did he want to feed beggars ? Miss 
 Myrtle never did, but there was one at the back 
 door now, and Hattie thought she'd better ask. 
 
 "Lord, Lord!" muttered Caspar, starting to 
 his feet and looking wildly about for his hat, "I 
 shall go raving mad! Hattie, I am out. Do 
 what you like with the beggar or with ' 
 
 Wheels outside the glass door interrupted. 
 Stealing a cautious look, he saw a stout, familiar 
 form revolving down from a hired carriage. 
 
 "Myrtle!" he exclaimed. She turned to him 
 a face of nervous apology, but he put his arms 
 about her and kissed her with reassuring warmth. 
 
 184
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "I couldn't help it, Caspar," she explained 
 hurriedly. "I didn't sleep all night I kept 
 remembering things I hadn't seen to, like the 
 French laundry bill. I simply had to come home. 
 Of course, I can go back again to-night - 
 She eyed him anxiously as she hesitated. 
 
 "Well, if it really worries you to be away, my 
 dear!" Caspar conceded heartily. Her face 
 lighted. 
 
 "Oh, Caspar, it does! Just at this time, when 
 there is so much to see to. If you don't really 
 mind I brought my bag." And she turned 
 back to the carriage with happy haste. "It is 
 good of you, dear brother." He felt Hattie's eye 
 on him and it hampered his spontaneity. 
 
 "It's all right, Myrtle. I can try running the 
 house some other time, when I am less rushed." 
 This was aimed at Hattie's expression, which he 
 did not like. "I suppose I can leave you in 
 charge now. Good-by!" And he closed the 
 front door after him with a long, deep breath of 
 relief. 
 
 "Well, I got your letter, Hattie," Miss Myrtle 
 admitted in a lowered tone as the other followed 
 her up-stairs with her bag. "I just had to come 
 after that." 
 
 "Nobody's sorry," observed Hattie; but she 
 stopped there. She was, in her way, a good sort. 
 
 185
 
 vm 
 
 ERNEST clearly was not happy. The trouble, 
 whatever it was, had come on him suddenly; Ann 
 Blossom could have told the day, and had a 
 haunting fear that Miss Joyce might know the 
 very hour. The two had taken the same train 
 to town, he gay, alert, looking back from the gate 
 to wave his hat to Ann, and so leaving her mo- 
 mentarily cheered and reassured. Miss Joyce, 
 after lunching with an old friend, had come home 
 alone; Ernest had not appeared until nearly 
 midnight. Ann had not exactly sat up for 
 him, but stayed up very late reading, and so she 
 was the only person in the big living-room when 
 the door opened and Ernest came slowly in a 
 changed, aloof, unresponsive Ernest who did not 
 want anything to eat, and who went up-stairs 
 without seeing her good-night hand. 
 
 He was more like himself at breakfast, but the 
 withdrawal was unmistakable. She gave him a 
 chance for a walk with her, and he made an un- 
 convincing excuse. Miss Joyce greeted him just 
 as usual; she would, of course, no matter what 
 
 186
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 sentimental episode might have passed between 
 them. Ann could torture herself into believing 
 anything. 
 
 He was heart-breakingly kind to Ann all the 
 following week, but he kept away. Caspar was 
 too deeply absorbed in an outside tragedy he 
 was trying to avert to pay much attention to his 
 household, and Cassandra, who was wholly guilt- 
 less in the matter, noticed only that the young 
 professor was quieter than usual. He was al- 
 ways, to her, a person easily forgotten. 
 
 That she should have been taken, into his 
 confidence was due solely to the accident of her 
 appearing at the proper moment and demanding 
 it. In a remote corner of the grounds there was 
 a plot called "the experiment garden," where he 
 and Ann had laboured with equal enthusiasm in 
 sun, wind, and rain. Curious results of grafting 
 and cross-fertilizing had kept them awake nights 
 with excitement, and already they were on their 
 way to a new carnation that, if it proved all it 
 promised, w r as to be given to the world as "the 
 Ann Blossom." The experiments had been neg- 
 lected this sad week, and Ann had not once been 
 summoned to help or to look on. Ernest did 
 little work himself, but he had wandered down 
 there one late afternoon and was sitting on the 
 ground beside the future Ann Blossom carnation 
 
 187
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 with knees drawn up and head resting on his arms 
 when Cassandra happened by. 
 
 "You don't look exactly cheerful," she com- 
 mented, pausing. He protested that he was, but, 
 having seen his face, she, too, sat down by the 
 Ann Blossom and demanded the trouble. 
 
 He tried to hold it back, but it would come. 
 It was only his eyes, he explained with a man- 
 ful attempt at offhand carelessness. The oculist 
 was not satisfied with their progress, and at the 
 last interview had warned him against counting 
 too securely on going back to his work in the 
 autumn. Ernest thought it was all nonsense, 
 himself: the man had always shown himself an 
 alarmist. But if it was true, it well, rather 
 upset some very important plans. Important to 
 him, at least. He was eagerly ready to smile at 
 the size of his tragedy, as seen from the world's 
 viewpoint. 
 
 "I am very fortunate in not having anyone 
 dependent upon me," he added, after expressing 
 his stout disbelief in the warning. 
 
 "What does Dr. Diman say?" was her first 
 question. He had not told Dr. Diman or any- 
 one, and was nervously anxious for her promise 
 of secrecy. The doctor had all he could carry, 
 just now, and there was no sense in worrying 
 other people. It was a great relief to have told 
 
 188
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 her, but he was apologetic for the selfishness of 
 it. Nothing could be done. 
 
 "But haven't your eyes felt better lately?" she 
 demanded. 
 
 "Very much. I thought he would tell me that 
 they would be practically well again by autumn." 
 
 "Very well, then! I should go to town to- 
 morrow and consult the biggest oculist there." 
 Ernest looked up, brightening. 
 
 "You think he might disagree?" 
 
 "I do. Moreover, if you sit here wondering 
 about them, you are bound to make them worse. 
 Have you money enough?" she added, feeling 
 that he hesitated. 
 
 "Oh, yes; I can manage that," he said so has- 
 tily that she knew she had hit on a difficulty. In 
 her pocket lay an envelope containing a month's 
 salary, and she drew it out, keeping it concealed in 
 the palm of her hand. 
 
 "Look here," she began; "if you tell him you 
 come from Dr. Diman, he probably won't ask 
 his regular fee. But hi any case you must feel 
 you have plenty with you. Put that in your 
 pocket." And she dropped the envelope into 
 his hand. 
 
 "Oh, no! Miss Joyce it is impossible!" 
 He was crimson. 
 
 "Nonsense!" She would not take it back. 
 189
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "It is what any friend would do, isn't it? And 
 aren't we friends?" 
 
 "Surely. But" 
 
 "I know everything you want to say;" she 
 spoke more gently. "Don't say it. Just do as 
 I ask. And when you are at work again, you 
 can pay it back. Please, Ernest." 
 
 The use of his first name won, though there 
 had to be a great deal more argument before the 
 flush had left his face and the envelope was put 
 into his pocket. They stayed talking for a long 
 time, and it was a much cheered person who 
 finally followed her back to the house. Ann, 
 who always knew instinctively where Ernest was, 
 had seen Cassandra take the path to the experi- 
 ment garden two hours before, and she heard his 
 laughter as they came back together. For once 
 her courage failed her. Hattie informed them, 
 later, that Miss Blossom had gone to bed with a 
 headache and did not wish to be disturbed. 
 
 Ernest was on his way to town before the house- 
 hold gathered for breakfast the next morning, 
 but early in the afternoon he reappeared with a 
 general air of having run all the way home. He 
 waved his hat boyishly to Cassandra from the 
 doorway, with a laugh that told his news, then, 
 catching sight of Ann Blossom in the garden, he 
 darted after her. 
 
 190
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Isn't it a great day!" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Isn't it!" she echoed automatically. 
 
 "Oh, Ann, I have had such a week!" And 
 the tale of his fright, followed by to-day's com- 
 plete reassurance, was poured out without re- 
 serve or manful attitudinizing: no "only eyes" 
 nonsense in telling Ann. He was so sure of her 
 sympathy, so intent on the tremendous thing he 
 meant to say, when his physical well-being had 
 been sufficiently emphasized, that he scarcely 
 noticed her silence; he could see only the soft 
 outline of the downcast face. When some of 
 this exuberance ran over in praise of Miss Joyce, 
 the head was abruptly lifted. 
 
 "Didn't she show splendid sense?" he ex- 
 claimed. "She is really a fine woman, Ann 
 so strong and clear-headed. We are fortunate to 
 be her friends." The only detail he had not 
 confided was the envelope in his pocket still 
 unopened, for the great man had insisted that 
 his services should be a brotherhood offering to 
 Dr. Diman. 
 
 "So you told her first," said Ann, quietly. 
 
 "Why, it merely happened;" Ernest looked 
 bewildered. 
 
 "I don't know; I should think it would have 
 been more natural to tell old friends, like Dr. 
 Diman or me." 
 
 191
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "But, Ann!" 
 
 "It doesn't matter. I can understand it per- 
 fectly." She smiled kindly, but from a distance. 
 "As you say, she is unusually fine and strong. 
 Suppose we tell her the good news at once." 
 She firmly led him back to the house and turned 
 him over to Cassandra, making an escape up- 
 stairs herself. 
 
 In her own room, it is shameful to relate, she 
 laughed, a smothered, joyful, excited laugh. In 
 all her gentle life she had never before wilfully 
 hurt anyone, and she found a novel and wicked 
 satisfaction in prolonging what had undeniably 
 been a stab of pain into a righteous grievance. 
 Someone had to pay for the week she had gone 
 through! So, with the utmost friendliness, she 
 kept Ernest at a distance, maliciously threw him 
 and Cassandra together, and, giddy with hope, 
 enjoyed herself exceedingly for two days that were 
 quite as long as the preceding ones to the baffled, 
 apologetic young professor. On the second 
 morning he lured her into a set of tennis, but 
 she dropped it in the middle on a palpable ex- 
 cuse. Her face was mischievously radiant, her 
 light brown hair wildly disordered, as she came 
 running into the big room with a box under one 
 arm. 
 
 "A boy just brought this for you, Miss Joyce." 
 192
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Her happy voice preceded her. "I thought per- 
 haps it was a birthday present for Miss Snell, so 
 I intercepted him." 
 
 "Is it Miss SnelPs birthday?" Cassandra 
 asked, pulling the string from the florist's box 
 that Ann had laid in front of her. 
 
 "Yes. I do wish we had known it in time to 
 make a proper birthday fuss over her. Miss 
 Myrtle says it is too late even for a cake." 
 
 Cassandra slowly shook her head. "I couldn't 
 make a fuss over Miss Snell." 
 
 "But she is such a poor old thing, and Dr. 
 Diman would have been so pleased," Ann urged. 
 The last reason arrested Cassandra's interest. 
 
 "Why?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, because she is his pet cure if you could 
 have seen her, when she came! And because he 
 is so sorry for lonely people. I gave her .a little 
 handkerchief someone had given me, and though 
 she didn't say much, you could see how touched 
 and delighted she was, underneath. Oh, how 
 lovely!" Ann clasped her hands over a fragrant 
 mass of gardenias. 
 
 Cassandra lifted them and glanced carelessly 
 in the box for a card, a purely formal precaution, 
 as these offerings had always come without name. 
 Then she laid the flowers back and replaced the 
 cover.
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 " Suppose we give them to Miss Snell as a birth- 
 day present," she suggested. 
 
 "Oh, how darling of you!" Ann evidently 
 found it hard not to embrace her. 
 
 "She would never take them from me," Cas- 
 sandra added. "We are not on the best possible 
 terms. Should you like to give them?" 
 
 Ann demurred: so lavish a present would not 
 be suitable, from her. They finally decided that 
 the box should be done up with a printed address 
 and delivered anonymously by a messenger, de- 
 tails which Ann attended to with singing enthu- 
 siasm. It was arranged that the boy should arrive 
 at lunch time, that Miss Snell might be on hand 
 to get the full sensation. 
 
 Ann allowed herself to be persuaded back to 
 ^her tennis and Cassandra had forgotten the inci- 
 dent when, an hour later, she saw boy and box 
 approaching. She strolled quietly up towards her 
 room before-the bell rang, to avoid any possible 
 question. Only Miss Snell and Miss Myrtle 
 were present when Hattie opened the front door. 
 Miss Snell untied the box in silent, even suspi- 
 cious, amazement. 
 
 "Well, I must say, Miss Snell, somebody thinks 
 a lot of you," commented Miss Myrtle, with 
 more cordiality than she often displayed. "I 
 heard it was your birthday." 
 
 194
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Such strong odours are unpleasant to me, but 
 it was kindly intended," Miss Snell admitted. 
 Her tone was coldly grudging, but the giver, lurk- 
 ing unseen at the head of the stairs, could detect 
 a gratified flush on the sallow face. "There does 
 not seem to be any card with them," she added, 
 lifting out the flowers and turning to look again 
 at the printed address. 
 
 "What is this?" And, to Cassandra's horror, 
 Miss Myrtle stooped and picked up a small white 
 envelope that had slipped from among the heavy 
 blossoms. The girl paled with dismay and 
 started forward, then stopped helplessly where 
 she was. The gift had been well meant, and the 
 prospect of being hideously snubbed for her 
 kindly impulse was unendurable. A faint hope 
 of escaping detection sprang up when she saw 
 that there was no name on the envelope, and 
 deepened to a momentary relief as Miss Snell 
 drew out, not a man's engraved card, but the 
 ordinary blank one supplied by florists. Some- 
 thing was written on it in pencil, and Cassandra 
 grew cold and dizzy again as she faced the 
 possibilities. What had that abominable man 
 said? 
 
 It was obviously not a casual message. The 
 flush ebbed from Miss SnelPs face as she spelled 
 it out. She pushed the flowers from her lap
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 and turned hastily to the couch. "I must lie 
 down," she stammered. Miss Myrtle allowed 
 her to arrange herself with unfeeling inatten- 
 tion. 
 
 "If you want me to get water for these, I will," 
 she said, gathering them up and laying them on 
 the table. As Miss Snell returned no answer 
 beyond a brief closing of her eyes, she trotted 
 off with a muttered, "Smelled of gas, I suppose!" 
 and shut the door vigorously behind her. 
 
 Cassandra, from the stairs, saw Miss Snell 
 open the hand that had clenched on the card and 
 read the message again and again, sometimes in 
 wide-eyed distress, sometimes with frightened 
 excitement. Her lips moved silently. Once or 
 twice she half started up, and then sank back 
 again. When Dr. Diman came in, she thrust 
 the card into the black silk bag that hung at her 
 belt and made a desperate effort at composure. 
 
 "Hello! What have you been doing to your- 
 self?" he demanded. 
 
 "Nothing. A momentary I feel better for 
 lying down." She moved uneasily under his 
 scrutiny. "See the present I have just had," 
 she added, to turn his eyes from her twitching 
 face. 
 
 "Very nice indeed," he assented absently. 
 
 Ann and Ernest, coming in at that moment 
 196
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 from the garden, showed a proper enthusiasm 
 over the present, which was borne off to decorate 
 the lunch table. 
 
 "You should have had a surprise party and a 
 cake if we had known about your birthday in 
 time," Ann told her. 
 
 11 1 don't eat cake, and surprises upset my 
 heart, but I am sure you are very kind," said Miss 
 Snell, making a shattered effort to rise. 
 
 Cassandra came reluctantly down and followed 
 the rest to the dining-room in silence. Obvi- 
 ously the card had not betrayed her; but what 
 had the man said? 
 
 Miss Snell ate nothing, and presently retreated 
 again to the hall couch. Dr. Diman cut his lunch 
 in half to follow her, though no one would have 
 guessed it by the casual way he picked up a paper 
 and sat down a little out of her range of vision. 
 The paper turned quietly at intervals, but it was 
 ten minutes before she spoke. 
 
 "Dr. Diman." It came with a nervous jerk. 
 . His harmonious, unstartling, "Well?" brought 
 her voice down several keys. 
 
 "Can you tell me the name of the librarian in 
 the Sciences and Religions department of the 
 library?" was the unexpected question. 
 
 "Why, let me see little bald chap who shuffles 
 his feet?" 
 
 197
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "He has a well-stored intelligence, and his 
 features are noticeably refined," said Miss Snell 
 coldly. 
 
 "Yes, I guess that's so," he apologized with a 
 startled glance at the top of her head. "Why, 
 isn't his name Barnes?" 
 
 "#," breathed Miss Snell, closing her eyes. 
 "Do you know his first initial?" she added 
 faintly. . 
 
 "No, I don't. I am not certain about Barnes, 
 either. Could it be Downes? Some such name. 
 He has often helped me out; I ought not to have 
 forgotten." 
 
 "It is probably Barnes," she said with finality. 
 "He has shown me marked courtesy. I have 
 been appreciative of it nothing more." Her 
 voice rose excitedly. "A lady is always courteous 
 to a gentleman who goes out of his way to assist 
 her. No one has a right to misconstrue such 
 courtesy, or to take advantage of it. I I 
 shall not consider myself to blame, in any event - 
 Her words were lost in nervous sobbing. 
 
 "Can't you tell me what has happened?" 
 In spite of the gentleness of his approach, she 
 took panic. 
 
 "Nothing has happened, nothing whatever," 
 she gasped. "I am f-fanciful, that is all. I 
 wish you wouldn't talk about it!" He waited 
 
 xoS
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 until her sobs had ceased, then rose with deter- 
 mination. 
 
 "I will give you five minutes to get ready in," 
 he said, offering his hand to help her rise. 
 
 "Ready for whom what?" she almost 
 shrieked. 
 
 "For a birthday drive with me," he reassured 
 her. "I shall have to stop for a consultation 
 on the way, but that won't take long." 
 
 "You won't expect me to hold the horse?" 
 
 "Certainly not. I'll tie him head and tail if 
 you like. Come on." 
 
 She rose, then sank back. "I am not equal," 
 she murmured. 
 
 He insisted that she would be presently and 
 despatched Ann for her things; and after the 
 latter had made three willing trips to the top of 
 the house for special varieties of veil, gloves, and 
 wrap, they got off. Ann looked pitifully after 
 them. 
 
 "Poor old dear, with all he had to do this 
 afternoon," she sighed. "What do you suppose 
 could have upset Miss Snell so?" 
 
 Cassandra turned impatiently from the topic. 
 She felt angry and ill-used that her first small 
 effort towards a kinder attitude should have been 
 requited so badly. The need to know what the 
 card had said harassed her into hunting for the 
 
 199
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 black silk bag, which might by merciful chance 
 have followed its daily habit of dropping off. 
 But to-day fate was against her; the bag had 
 obviously gone driving. 
 
 Miss Snell looked more composed when Dr. 
 Diman set her down at the garden gate, two hours 
 later, and hurried on to do what he could with 
 the remainder of the afternoon. She came in 
 without seeming to see Cassandra, a daily inten- 
 tion which the latter found a wicked pleasure in 
 frustrating. 
 
 "Did you have a pleasant drive?" she asked 
 with specious cordiality. 
 
 "Very, thank you," Miss Snell conceded, after 
 a pause; the gathering string of her lips was 
 drawn to its tightest. Then her chilly precision 
 was shattered by an exclamation of alarm. She 
 clutched wildly about her belt. "My bag, my 
 black silk bag," she stammered. 
 
 "You have dropped it?" cried Cassandra 
 hopefully, jumping up. Miss Snell had no time 
 for small animosities now. "I had it when I 
 started. Oh, I must find it!" Cassandra was 
 all obligingness in the matter of searching. They 
 followed Miss Snell's path down to the gate, 
 and even walked along the road a short dis- 
 tance. 
 
 "You must have lost it off in the carriage," 
 200
 
 v OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Cassandra finally decided. "It will come home 
 safe with Dr. Diman. If it does not, I am sure 
 Miss Blossom will make you another," she added 
 guilelessly. 
 
 "I happen to want this one," was the curt 
 answer, as Miss Snell turned unhappily to her 
 own room. 
 
 Cassandra was watching for Dr. Diman when 
 he came back. She ran out and stopped him on 
 his way to the stable. "Did Miss Snell leave a 
 bag in the carriage?" she asked eagerly. "She 
 has been so distressed about losing it." He 
 looked at her very kindly in return for her 
 solicitude. 
 
 "Yes, here it is. It did not occur to me that 
 she would worry," he said in so warm a voice 
 that she felt dimly ashamed. But she had not 
 time for side issues now. The unfortunate card 
 was in her possession and she must seize her 
 chance. 
 
 She ran back into the empty hall, and stood 
 panting and hesitating at the foot of the stairs. 
 There was nothing unscrupulous in reading a 
 note intended for herself; yet the apparent under- 
 handedness of the act revolted her even as she 
 fumbled with the ribbons that held the top. They 
 opened at her pull, and her fingers had already 
 found the little envelope within when an acid 
 
 201
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 voice fell from above like a heavy hand on the 
 shoulder of guilt. 
 
 "When you have quite finished exploring my 
 bag, Miss Joyce, I will take it." Miss Snell 
 stood in the shadow at the head of the stairs, so 
 tremulous with anger that she had to support 
 herself by the banister; her face worked like 
 a crying child's, though she managed to keep her 
 voice jerkily articulate. Cassandra stared at her 
 in helpless silence, forgetting for the moment 
 that her conduct was not as outrageous as it 
 looked. "I suspected it wasn't all kindness that 
 made you so zealous about my bag! I knew you 
 better than that, miss! I thought I had better 
 be down here to get it myself, and it seems I was 
 just in time. Of course, if there is anything you 
 want to know about my private affairs - 
 
 "Oh, for heaven's sake!" Cassandra broke in. 
 "Don't be so unreasonable. I know it looked 
 queer, but if you will calm down enough to hear 
 the whole truth " 
 
 Miss Snell broke into hysterical crying. "I 
 won't hear another word from you! Don't you 
 ever presume to address me! Drop my bag at 
 once!" 
 
 "But, you old fool," blazed Cassandra, throw- 
 ing down the bag. 
 
 "That will do, please!" Caspar's voice, quiet 
 202
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 and stern, fell chillingly on her wrath as he strode 
 past her, picking up first the bag, then the sob- 
 bing, crouching figure on the stairs. "Come up 
 to your room," he said in a wholly different tone, 
 and, clinging to him, she let herself be half car- 
 ried away. 
 
 Cassandra threw herself miserably into a chair 
 to await his return. She had tried to please 
 him, to do a kind act, and she was only in deeper 
 disgrace than ever. She was a failure always 
 a failure. But Caspar should not be left to think 
 that she read other people's letters. No matter 
 how angry he was, he must hear the truth about 
 that. 
 
 It was a long time before he came down. She 
 waited for him to speak, but he passed her with- 
 out a glance and closed the door of his office 
 behind him. After a moment's hesitation, Cas- 
 sandra rose and knocked. Her head was well 
 up, but her heart had never thudded so terribly 
 in all her life. At his "Come" she pushed open 
 the door, but did not enter. 
 
 "Dr. Diman, it is not fair that you should 
 think Miss Snell accused me justly." It was 
 humiliating, how her voice stumbled and shook, 
 but she kept doggedly on. "I did look as if I 
 were trying to pry into her affairs, but as a matter 
 of fact " 
 
 203
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 His gesture seemed to brush all that aside. 
 "You don't need to assure me of that. Accusa- 
 tions made by a person in her nervous state are 
 wholly unimportant couldn 't you have real- 
 ized that?" He leaned his arms on the desk 
 and for the first time looked at her. His lifted 
 face was so sad and tired that she could have 
 flung herself at his feet in her sudden, over- 
 whelming abasement; but she only held her head 
 a little higher in a desperate effort after self- 
 control. "You would not anwer back or be 
 angry if someone accused you in delirium, would 
 you ? The only way to deal with sick people is 
 to take the nurse's attitude to eliminate self 
 beyond the possibility of a grievance. Until you 
 realize that, you will inevitably do more harm 
 than good." He let his hands drop before him 
 and turned away. "Will you kindly ask Ann 
 Blossom to come here?" he added. 
 
 Cassandra closed the door in silence on her 
 dismissal, but her face flamed. Ann Blossom - 
 always Ann Blossom! She, Cassandra, made 
 trouble, and now Ann Blossom was undoubtedly 
 summoned to help smooth it out. They were 
 like two Sunday-school heroines, the bad one and 
 the good one. Great heavens, how banal it all 
 was! 
 
 Ann was strolling down the garden path, still 
 204
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 with the lighted face that she had shown ever 
 since Ernest had come hurrying back from town 
 with his good news. She had a trick of walking 
 with her hands turned slightly out at her sides, 
 as though to suit the convenience of little clinging 
 fingers; at such times her steps loitered happily 
 by the pansy bed and the puff balls in the grass. 
 
 The dreaminess vanished from her eyes as 
 the doctor's message was curtly delivered; she 
 came with a glad alacrity that Cassandra found 
 maddening. Really, the girl was scarcely decent 
 in the openness of her adoration. Dr. Diman 
 would find it cloying if he were not such a such 
 an innocent, Cassandra hotly concluded. 
 
 She was still standing in the doorway, scowling 
 into the garden, when Ernest came contentedly 
 from his finished labours, polishing his dark 
 glasses, preparatory to putting them away, and 
 looking about with satisfaction on his orderly 
 domain. "Several interesting things are hap- 
 pening in the experiment garden," he told her. 
 "Should you like to come and see?" 
 
 "No," said Cassandra. 
 
 A nearer view of her face checked his laughter. 
 "Tired to death?" he asked with his ready sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 "Tired to death; bored to death; discouraged 
 to death! I am going to run away." 
 
 20 =
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Will you let me run away with you?" 
 
 "I didn't know you wanted to escape." 
 
 "I don't. I want to bring you back when you 
 have had enough." 
 
 "Dr. Diman would not thank you. Nothing 
 would delight and relieve him like my disappear- 
 ance." 
 
 "You don't really think that." 
 
 "Don't I? Well, it matters so little what I 
 think that I shall not argue about it." 
 
 "Poor soul! What can I do for you ?" 
 
 She sighed fretfully. "I think, if you were to 
 admire me a little, it might help," she admitted. 
 "I have been called names ever since I came here! 
 Most of them true, but I am not used to that sort 
 of truth, and I find it wearing." The office 
 door had opened, and Ann and Caspar had come 
 slowly out, talking in an earnest undertone. The 
 young man, braced in the doorway with his back 
 to the great room, had not heard them; but Cas- 
 sandra, keenly conscious of Ann's upturned face 
 and Caspar's hand on her shoulder, felt a fierce 
 impulse to punish, to show herself heart-whole 
 and desired of other men. She bent towards 
 Ernest, smiling subtly. 
 
 "Couldn't you please admire me, just this 
 once?" she murmured. 
 
 His senses were obviously startled out of their 
 206
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 usual calm balance by the appeal. "I think I 
 could manage it, Miss Joyce!" His laugh was 
 breathless. 
 
 "How will you show it?" The voices at the 
 other end of the hall had faltered, were continuing 
 less smoothly. That was something. "You will 
 have to rub it in, if you are going to comfort me 
 to-night." She braced her hand against the door 
 jamb, so that her arm was not three inches from 
 his ear. "How, how?" she repeated imperi- 
 ously. He had actually flushed, this untried 
 young professor of botany. He would never 
 of himself have dared to lift her other hand to 
 his lips, but she gave it to him, and some outside 
 force seemed to carry it there. To be sure, he 
 dropped it unceremoniously, looking distinctly 
 ashamed; but little she cared, since that earnest 
 tete-a-tete by the office door had been effectually 
 broken up. Ann had disappeared. 
 
 "Come and run away with me; I need to get 
 off the place," she begged. "Take me miles' 
 away." 
 
 "Anywhere you like," he assented, evidently 
 relieved at the prospect of action. A few mo- 
 ments later she nodded a casual good-by to 
 Caspar as she ran down the stairs. 
 
 "I am going out with Mr. Cunningham. Don't 
 wait dinner if we are not here." He made no 
 
 207
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 answer whatever, a rudeness that gave her a 
 wicked satisfaction. 
 
 They were not back at dinner-time, nor at 
 eight, nor when the clock struck nine of the warm 
 summer night. Ann brought her sewing and 
 sat down by Caspar, working feverishly. Ever 
 since the two had closed the gate behind them in 
 the late afternoon, she had been indefatigable, 
 waiting on Miss Snell, who had gone to bed, a 
 mass of wrecked nerves, helping Hattie, running 
 errands for Miss Myrtle; but all the day's bright- 
 ness had been crushed out. 
 
 "Read to me," she begged when she and 
 Caspar were left alone together; "just where 
 you are." 
 
 "Well, if you think that the Opsonic Index in 
 Diabetes Mellitus would amuse you - 
 
 "Yes, it would. I don't care what it means: 
 I just want to hear your voice." 
 
 He began at once, paying little heed to the 
 meaning himself in his poignant consciousness of 
 her suffering. Her transparent face had a stricken 
 pallor that drew his glance again and again. 
 She sewed furiously, her eyes wide and fixed, her 
 lips opening now and then to a silent gasp, as 
 though the hurt were a bodily wound. Any 
 sound from without visibly stabbed her. Cas- 
 par suddenly dropped his pamphlet. 
 
 208
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Ann, should you like to go away?" he asked. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Should you like anyone else to go away?" 
 
 "No." She looked up at him with desperate 
 courage. "I don't want what isn't mine by 
 rights. If a thing can be won away from me, 
 then I would rather it riappened now. I won't 
 have anything but the truth. And a man must 
 be true to his own heart, whatever it costs." 
 
 "It is not always a question of heart. I wish 
 you knew more about men, Ann dear. It would 
 help you to understand." 
 
 "Can't you tell me? I need help." 
 
 He tried to, very frankly and affectionately, but 
 she was too full of pain to understand. Presently 
 she started up, letting her work fall. 
 
 "No, no it's no use. Men may be like 
 that, but this is different. Who would care for 
 me after knowing a woman like her?" 
 
 He rose to put impressive hands on her shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 "Ann Blossom," he said earnestly, "three men 
 would love you where one would love her. She 
 is dazzling, perhaps, but only a fool could find 
 her more desirable," he ended with bitter vehe- 
 mence. She threw herself into his arms, burying 
 her face against his coat. 
 
 "All, comfort me, comfort me!" she sobbed, 
 209
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 not knowing what she said. He held her close 
 with his cheek against her hair. After a moment 
 she broke away from him and ran up-stairs, her 
 face in her hands. 
 
 Caspar went into his office and closed the door. 
 It did not occur to him that anyone crossing the 
 lawn might have seen through the glass doors, 
 and misunderstood. 
 
 210
 
 IX 
 
 Miss SNELL was visibly worse the next day. 
 Symptoms that had been banished two or three 
 months before reasserted themselves. She com- 
 plained of improbable throbbings, impossible 
 pains; one hour her right arm was pronounced 
 helpless, the next she was unable to walk. Weeks 
 of apparent gain seemed to be swept away by 
 some hysterical excitement, the source of which 
 Dr. Diman laboured in vain to discover. He was 
 called away for the day and went most reluctantly. 
 
 "If you can only find out what she has got in 
 her head!" were his last words to Ann. She 
 smiled courageously over her promise to try. 
 Neither had made any allusion to last night, even 
 when he had handed her a pencilled note, found 
 on the breakfast table, in which Ernest an- 
 nounced, without explanation, that he had gone 
 off for two or three days. 
 
 Cassandra came down late, her eyes heavy, her 
 lips in a very straight line. She was not surprised 
 to find Ernest gone; the look in his face last 
 night when, pale and oppressed, they entered 
 the empty hall, had been a revealing one. The 
 
 211
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 whole evening had been leading up to some such 
 explanation. The scene had been obviously set 
 for romance. Cassandra, strung with vivid con- 
 sciousness of her own vitality and power, and 
 angrily reckless how she used them, had looked 
 to see this inexperienced young teacher of botany 
 crumple helplessly before her. He was to be 
 the sacrifice to her hurt vanity, the scapegoat 
 for her suffering. They went swinging through 
 miles of green country in an open car, mercifully 
 deserted; they dined under grape-vines, four 
 elbows on a little table and a bottle of vin ordi- 
 naire between them: they came swinging home 
 again through the scented darkness, and all the 
 time the young botanist had laughed, argued, 
 admired, and looked on. He was like a spec- 
 tator at an exciting new show; no applause was 
 withheld, but at the close he would go peaceably 
 home to his own. And what his own was she 
 saw with startling clearness as they came into the 
 lamplight. 
 
 "Didn't you know she was in love with him?" 
 she had asked, with a laugh that must have 
 seemed to him heartless. 
 
 "In love with Dr. Diman?" he repeated 
 dazedly. 
 
 "Good heavens, yes! Haven't you seen it?" 
 It was a relief to be impatient with him. "But 
 
 212
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 I never dreamed that he a man of his " The 
 dryness of her mouth stopped her. 
 
 "Of course. A man like that she would 
 be, naturally," he stammered. "They are I 
 think, if you will excuse me, I will - He 
 turned to the stairs and left her without a look. 
 So he was explained, this untried young professor 
 who had withstood so genially her imperious 
 femininity. In love with Ann Blossom, of course; 
 everyone was in love with Ann Blossom. Her 
 breath came sobbingly, though her eyes were dry 
 and hard. That was the sort of woman who 
 always won : dependent and innocent and 
 
 "Oh, God!" broke sharply from her. She 
 pressed her palm against her shaking mouth and 
 ran up to her room. 
 
 Miss Snell spent the morning in bed, but after 
 luncheon let Ann persuade her to come down 
 where it was cooler and establish herself in the 
 doctor's office. As she showed an inclination to 
 doze, Ann stole out, leaving the door ajar. "If 
 she w r ants anything, would you mind calling 
 me?" she whispered to Cassandra, who was busy 
 at her desk. 
 
 "Certainly," was the dry answer. It was the 
 first time that they had spoken to each other 
 that day, and their eyes did not meet. 
 
 Ann went up-stairs, but evidently Miss Snell 
 213
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 could not sleep. Cassandra heard her sighing 
 and twisting. Presently she rose and went with 
 hurried, furtive steps to the mantelpiece. Cas- 
 sandra, by leaning forward, could see her stand- 
 ing in front of its old-fashioned mirror, staring 
 intently at her own reflection. The narrow, 
 melancholy face, with its little patch of sandy 
 curls above and the flaring plaid bow beneath, 
 seemed to have hypnotized her into immobility; 
 but presently she began to try small feminine 
 experiments, pitifully out of keeping with her 
 harassed eyes and drawn mouth. She lifted the 
 little curls back into a pompadour, then tried 
 the effect of parting and drawing them down across 
 her high temples. The plaid bow was turned up 
 into a stock, then concealed under a handkerchief, 
 whose lace edge was shaped into a turnover col- 
 lar by the tremulous fingers. Her cheeks were 
 rubbed into a momentary red. 
 
 Cassandra drew back in disgust. "The old 
 fool!" was her impatient thought. This, of 
 course, was the effect of the ardent message that 
 she had found on Burnett's card: she supposed 
 that her charms had aroused some vehement 
 passion, and, womanlike, was anxious to go on 
 with the good work. Cassandra had a brief 
 laugh for the idea, but there was little amusement 
 in it. Burnett's message and Miss Snell's vaga- 
 
 214
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 ries seemed equally remote and unimportant in 
 the misery that had closed down on her since last 
 night. 
 
 As the afternoon wore on, Miss Snell grew more 
 flighty and restless. Cassandra could hear her 
 talking vehemently to herself, moving incessantly 
 from couch to chair and from chair to couch. 
 Whenever the doorbell rang she gave a startled 
 gasp and fled to the bacl?: regions of the house. 
 Cassandra grew as uneasy as Ann evidently 
 was, and they both watched impatiently for Dr. 
 Diman, though from different rooms. 
 
 He came at last with his unhurried step, his 
 hat pushed back on his head, the little rose droop- 
 ing on his shapeless coat. Cassandra, watching 
 him from the window, felt a sudden burning 
 anguish behind her eyes. Here, at last, was the 
 man whom one could love without compromise. 
 She had looked for him before on coaches and 
 automobiles, in ballrooms, in country houses 
 and city streets, looked, in her crass ignorance, 
 wherever there was a proper coat or an alluring 
 background; but out of these necessary acces- 
 sories the man of iron strength and clean heart 
 had never chanced to confront her. And now, 
 having found him, she knew that the accessories 
 to which she had committed herself were as 
 nothing; but, because she was too late, because, 
 
 215
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 too, she was spoiled and vulgarized by the life 
 she had led, because she had accepted the grim 
 necessity of compromise, the best was not for 
 her. And yet, in that moment, it seemed to her 
 that if he would just once put his arms about her 
 as he had put them about Ann Blossom last 
 night, she could bear anything life might send. 
 
 At the sound of Caspar's step on the gravel, 
 Miss Snell, who had been induced to lie down, 
 started up with a gasp that was almost a scream. 
 He came in hurriedly. "What was that?" he 
 demanded. Miss Snell's strained, twitching face 
 at the office door was answer enough. He took 
 her up-stairs at once, without so much as a glance 
 of greeting for the two girls. An hour passed 
 before he came down into the hall where they 
 were waiting, each seemingly unconscious of the 
 other. 
 
 "She has gone to sleep with an opiate," he 
 said to their unspoken inquiries. "Ann, I don't 
 suppose you found out what she has got on her 
 mind? I'd give a year's income to know," he 
 added, a hand clasping the back of his neck. 
 
 "Why, I think I know," said Cassandra. 
 
 "You do!" There was exasperation as well 
 as relief in his tone and she stiffened. 
 
 "It is a guess, of course. On her birthday I 
 turned over to her some flowers that had been 
 
 216
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 sent to me, and, unfortunately, she found a card 
 in them. I don't know what it said;" her colour 
 rose; "but no doubt something that made her 
 think someone was very much struck by 
 her. I tried to see the card when I had her black 
 silk bag, but she caught me and was furious 
 naturally enough. I should rather like to get 
 hold of it." 
 
 Caspar listened with grave eyes averted. "Ann, 
 do you think you could steal into her room and 
 get the card?" he asked after a pause. 
 
 She was off at once, her eagerness to serve 
 restoring a momentary brightness to her face. 
 When she had brought the desired envelope, she 
 slipped out. The doctor gave it to Cassandra 
 and walked away as she opened it. The mes- 
 sage made her frown impatiently. It had some- 
 what the same effect on Caspar, to whom she 
 handed it. 
 
 Coming Sunday tired of waiting to be asked. I'd rather 
 
 be thrown out than never see you. 
 
 G. B. 
 
 "Why, to-morrow will be Sunday," Cassandra 
 exclaimed. "I suppose she thought some ad- 
 mirer was coming to see her," she added, as he 
 said nothing. 
 
 "Yes; and the two days of suspense have un- 
 done the work of two months of all four months, 
 
 217
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 perhaps. Miss Joyce, I wouldn't have had this 
 happen for anything on earth." 
 
 "I am sure it has been no pleasure to me." 
 
 "But why you didn't tell me! Why you let 
 me blunder on, not understanding! How could 
 you be so thoughtless?" 
 
 "Ah, it is no use!" She lifted her hands in 
 passionate exasperation. "I am only a failure 
 here; I do nothing right. I shall take the one 
 way out." 
 
 "You mean?" His anger had vanished. 
 
 "I mean that any life whatever will be better 
 than this," she answered out of her blinding 
 pain. 
 
 "Well, I suppose we can have dinner now. 
 It is only three quarters of an hour after time," 
 said Miss Myrtle plaintively from the door- 
 way. 
 
 The next morning might have been taken as 
 an object lesson in the disadvantages of what 
 Miss Myrtle called "gratitude service." Hattie, 
 the one really sound and efficient member of the 
 household staff, went to church. "I feel dread- 
 fully at not going, myself, but I'd like to know 
 what would become of the house if I did," Miss 
 Myrtle sighed. The remark was as regular a 
 part of Sunday breakfast as the fishballs, and 
 usually excited no more comment, but to-day 
 
 218
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Caspar took it up and briefly ordered her to go. 
 He would not listen to fter expostulations. 
 
 "I think church would do you good," he com- 
 mented. "And take lunch with Aunt Jennie." 
 
 "But, Caspar" 
 
 "We won't argue about it. Go where you 
 please, but don't come back into this house 
 before four o'clock. I don't propose to have 
 anyone kept a prisoner." He was as near irri- 
 tability as she had ever seen him, and she went 
 disconsolately to get ready. 
 
 "Don't blame me if there isn't any lunch," 
 she warned them. 
 
 Ann Blossom started to tidy the living-room, 
 and got so far as to pile the faded flowers on a 
 newspaper and to fill a chair with brushes and 
 dusters. Then she recollected that certain young 
 plants in the experiment garden would need shel- 
 ter from the hot sun, and hurried out to attend 
 to them. She apparently forgot to come back, 
 so Cassandra took hold herself, finding relief in 
 activity. She had never handled brush or duster 
 before, yet in five minutes she was using them 
 more efficiently than Ann did. The dustpan 
 puzzled her at first; the dust seemed to go round 
 and under it rather than in. 
 
 "Hold it in your left hand and press it down 
 harder," said a voice over her head. Caspar 
 
 219
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 was looking on from the doorway. "And use 
 the brush more lightly like this." He took it 
 from her, and together they engineered the fluff 
 of dust into the receptacle. Then he brushed off 
 his knee with his hand and went on up to Miss 
 Snell. Cassandra had not lifted her eyes or 
 spoken. It was the first time that he had ap- 
 proached her since her fiery declaration of last 
 night; he had given no least sign of any desire 
 to turn her from its consequences. Her heart 
 sagged heavily in her side as she looked at the 
 clock. Burnett would probably come early in 
 the afternoon. And then ? 
 
 "What else can I do?" she cried to herself. 
 When she had finished down-stairs she went to 
 her room and began to pack her clothes. If it 
 had to be, it might as well come as soon as pos- 
 sible. "Perhaps this is my wedding day!" she 
 thought with a short laugh. 
 
 At luncheon time she found a table for three 
 spread in one end of the great hall. "It is so 
 much cooler than the , dining-room ; but Miss 
 Myrtle won't let us when she is home," Ann 
 explained with resolute cheerfulness. "Hattie 
 hasn't come back." 
 
 "Wise Hattie," was the languid comment. 
 Ann went into the office to drag Caspar forth, 
 and Cassandra shut her eyes and ears in feverish 
 
 220
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 dread of seeing or hearing some evidence of the 
 secret bond between them. Ann had evidently 
 pulled him forcibly to his feet; her right hand 
 still held his left as they came in. That she 
 need not see their faces, Cassandra began to fill 
 the teacups. 
 
 "But there isn't any tea in it!" said Ann sud- 
 denly. True enough, the stream from the teapot 
 was clear hot water. Ronsard, who had, for- 
 tunately, just set down the salad bowl, flung up 
 his hands, bony fingers hooking desperately at 
 high heaven. 
 
 "Ah, my God!" he cried, so tragically that 
 they laughed. Ann tried to comfort him, but 
 he was too intent on repairing the mistake to 
 heed, and went off muttering execrations on him- 
 self. 
 
 "How can I cut it without any knife?" asked 
 Caspar, presently, after feeling about under the 
 edges of the platter that held the cold chicken. 
 
 "Ah, don't tell him! He will feel so dread- 
 fully," begged Ann as Ronsard 's agitated step 
 approached. So Caspar affected to be absorbed 
 in a glass of milk, playing the part with such 
 marked lack of histrionic ability that she broke 
 into nervous laughter. When the old chef had 
 gone she stole into the dining-room for the carver 
 and brought it back concealed in her skirt, where 
 
 221
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 it had to stay until Ronsard had set down a 
 belated dish of olives and bowed himself off. 
 Caspar held out his hand for the knife with whim- 
 sical anxiety. 
 
 "I had that ground the other day, young 
 woman," he warned her. "Dropping it on your 
 foot is no longer the harmless pastime you have 
 usually found it. I wonder why you always drop 
 things and Miss Joyce never?" he added medi- 
 tatively. If this day held any suspense or pain 
 for him, he gave no sign of it. 
 
 "Because I am a loony," said Ann promptly. 
 
 "Perhaps because I never pretend to carry 
 anything," suggested Cassandra. 
 
 "Consider the liles, how they grow," he mused, 
 good-humouredly. "Well, if carrying things is to 
 you the worst evil, I suppose you are right to 
 avoid it." 
 
 The reference of his words sent the blood back 
 to her heart; she could not answer. "What else 
 can I do?" -the question seemed to be dashing 
 about her brain like a little animal in a trap. 
 The way out was not through friends. Looking 
 back, she seemed never to have made any. She 
 had been too absorbed in men to trouble about 
 women, too contemptuous of the men themselves 
 -when she had "found them out," as she ex- 
 pressed it to keep them. Pride and the rest- 
 
 222
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 lessness in her blood had driven her like twin 
 furies; she could no more have stopped for friend- 
 ship than the famished could pause for wild 
 flowers. The way out through marriage with 
 Burnett had not seemed so intolerable a month 
 before : bitterly undesirable, to be sure, yet a pos- 
 sibility to be calmly reckoned with, since com- 
 promise was evidently to be her fate. Yet now 
 every sound that might mean an arrival at the 
 door behind her came like a signal to execution. 
 
 11 1 want another glass of milk, but Ronsard 
 will be so distressed if I get up and so agitated 
 if I ring," Ann was saying. "He's such a dear, 
 I hate to bother him." 
 
 "Poor old boy," Caspar commented. "He 
 must have had plenty of Gallic fire in his day. 
 He was with you a good many years, wasn't he, 
 Miss Joyce?" 
 
 She started. "With me ? Oh, Ronsard! 
 Yes, indeed. And he was always making special 
 dishes for me; we were devoted friends. I know 
 I cried when he went away, though I was four- 
 teen. We all felt dreadfully." 
 
 "Wouldn't he stay?" asked Ann, still with 
 her air of resolute and cheerful interest. 
 
 "Oh, he couldn't. Something dreadful hap- 
 pened to his daughter Emilie, I never knew what; 
 I think she killed herself. She had been edu- 
 
 223
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 cated to be a typewriter, and my father had got 
 her a position in a big leather house. Ronsard 
 was quite off his head with grief and rage and did 
 not work for a long time. I heard him crying and 
 it haunted me for years. I had not known before 
 that men cried." 
 
 "Do they?" Ann turned earnestly to Caspar. 
 
 "They prefer not to," was the cheerful answer. 
 
 "But they sometimes do when it is all too 
 dreadful to stand?" she persisted. He would 
 not take it seriously. 
 
 "Yes, then they go up to their rooms and have 
 a good cry," he assured her. "He has often 
 spoken of his great sorrow," he went on to Cas- 
 sandra. "He is more broken than his years war- 
 rant, and I suppose that did it. You have been 
 a great solace to him here. Talking French 
 with him was a very real kindness." 
 
 "It was a comfort to me, too. We really are 
 congenial souls, Ronsard and I." His praise 
 wounded, it sounded so final. She was going, 
 of course, but there was no need to see her off 
 with parting tributes until she gave the signal. 
 The clock struck, jarring on her nerves like a 
 blow. She started from her seat. "Suppose we 
 clear the table for him," she said, and hurried 
 off to the kitchen with her hands full of cups. 
 Lingering there to compliment Ronsard on his 
 
 224
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 salad, she did not hear the stopping of an auto- 
 mobile at the front gate. When she came back, 
 Caspar had opened the front door to a big, well- 
 dressed man who was asking for Miss Joyce. 
 
 Cassandra's courage, sadly wanting all day, 
 came back with a bound. She paused for a 
 moment's level scrutiny of George Burnett, her 
 one way out. His light brown moustache swept 
 straight across his face, dividing it into two dis- 
 tinct halves. Above, in spite of retreating hair 
 and dark marks beneath the eyes, there was a 
 battered semblance of genial good looks, and the 
 high dome of the forehead suggested brains; 
 below, the sagging underlip and coarsened jaw 
 told which half would eventually dominate. His 
 unmodulated voice proclaimed him self-made and 
 on good terms with his creator. Yet she had 
 remembered him as far worse. She came for- 
 ward almost with relief and introduced him to 
 Dr. Diman. Ann had effaced herself with the 
 luncheon dishes. 
 
 "I did it in twenty-three minutes from the 
 ferry;" Mr. Burnett had an air of congratulat- 
 ing them all on the achievement. Caspar, who 
 had never learned the necessity of small talk, 
 stood silent and wholly at his ease, obviously wait- 
 ing for some more interesting topic. 
 
 "Very good indeed," said Cassandra, dryly. 
 225
 
 "Rather! We nearly got arrested three times. 
 But it's funny how the horses are getting used 
 to it. We didn't scare one the whole way." 
 
 "Yes; the sporting element is quite dying out 
 of motoring," Cassandra assented. 
 
 "Oh, no; I never saw any fun in making the 
 horses bolt. It caused a lot of delay," he ex- 
 plained gravely, and her heart sank a little. 
 
 "I shall have to remember not to be funny," 
 was her involuntary thought. Yet she felt curi- 
 ously remote and unconcerned. All the passion- 
 ate misery of the past hours had vanished; she 
 was conscious only of a dull wish to get the busi- 
 ness over with. 
 
 Caspar was leaning on the back of a chair, 
 looking at the caller with an intentness that 
 brought out more clearly than ever his resemblance 
 to General Grant. 
 
 "What is your opinion of the speed laws? Are 
 they too stringent, unfair?" he asked. 
 
 "They're all rot." Mr. Burnett threw back 
 his shoulders and eased his neck in his collar. 
 "Can't possibly keep them; but you don't need 
 to if you have the price. Laws!" He flung it 
 out with the air of one taking up a familiar chal- 
 lenge. "Most of them are made to be broken, 
 anyway. You couldn't run a legitimate business 
 a year if you changed your course for every little 
 
 226
 
 T 
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 lwo-for-a-cent law that gets jammed through the 
 legislature, and the fellows that make them don't 
 expect you to. All they want is to be bought off 
 next time." 
 
 "isn't that rather sweeping?" Caspar asked 
 with non-committal mildness. 
 
 "It's the truth. Our politics are rotten clear 
 through, and the high muckamucks are no better 
 than the little boodlers. Why, look here! I 
 can tell you something that all Wall Street is on 
 to, but that you'll never see in the papers. Do 
 you know why the President suddenly dropped 
 his opposition to - 
 
 "He happens to be a good friend of mine, the 
 President," Caspar interrupted. "I saw some- 
 thing of him in Cuba when I was down there as 
 a medical volunteer. I have a great admiration 
 for him." 
 
 "H'm. Well, I wasn't going to say anything 
 against him, except that, like all the rest of us, 
 he's got his price." Mr. Burnett had a short 
 laugh for human fallibility. "I never found a 
 man yet that hadn't, if you went at him right. 
 'he muck-rakers and reformers put up a lot of 
 high-class talk, but you give one of them a sniff 
 of what he wants most greenbacks or glory 
 or whatever it may be Why, I could tell you a 
 case " 
 
 227
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 The telephone interrupted. With a relieved, 
 " Excuse me," Dr. Diman answered it, then came 
 back hat in hand. 
 
 "I shall probably not see you again this after- 
 noon," he said to Burnett, and shook hands; but 
 for Cassandra he had neither word nor look as 
 he went out. 
 
 "He seems a decent sort," Burnett admitted, 
 moving to a chair nearer Cassandra's. "What in 
 thunder are you doing here, anyway? Did you 
 really mean what you said, that you are grubbing 
 for your living?" 
 
 "I certainly did." Her eyes rested on him 
 passively, neither inviting nor repelling. 
 
 "What do you do?" George Burnett was not 
 one to hesitate over putting personal questions; 
 he fired them unflinchingly, and Cassandra had 
 learned that a point-blank refusal to answer was 
 the only subtlety that could reach him on that 
 head. But to-day she was prepared to answer 
 even the most personal question of all. 
 
 "What do I do? Write letters, keep case- 
 record books, look up references in the library, 
 answer the telephone, receive patients " 
 
 "Oh, Lord, stop!" He got up in exaspera- 
 tion. "You in penal servitude like that!" he 
 muttered. She eyed him approvingly: righteous 
 wrath became him, dominating for the moment 
 
 228 
 
 *
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 the lower part of his face. "What does he give 
 you?" he demanded, coming to a halt in front 
 of her with the characteristic throwing back of 
 his shoulders and sidewise jerk of his neck 
 "As if his clothes were not comfortable," she 
 reflected. 
 
 "Thirty dollars a month and my board." 
 
 "Oh, great Scott!" He went off into another 
 tirade while she listened passively and wished it 
 were over with. Presently he drew up a chair 
 close beside her. 
 
 "Well, you let me come, anyway," he said, 
 watching her narrowly. A defensive impulse 
 made her protest. 
 
 "I did not happen to see your card until last 
 night. I had no idea until then that you were 
 coming." 
 
 "You could have telegraphed." 
 
 "Yes, so I could." After all, why should she 
 defend herself now? She had told Caspar her 
 intention, and he had not lifted his finger to hold 
 her back. He had his Ann Blossom. 
 
 "And you didn't," Burnett insisted. 
 
 "No, I didn't," she admitted gravely. 
 
 "Well, you know why I'm here;" and one of 
 his hands closed down with practised caution over 
 hers, lying helplessly on the arm of her chair. 
 It neither responded nor drew away. "I'm wild 
 
 229
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 about you. You can do anything you like with 
 me turn me around your little finger." There 
 was a tremor of genuine feeling in his voice. 
 "My wife's going to have everything she wants 
 house on the Avenue, horses, tiaras, every- 
 thing. I 'm . lavish it 's my way. Plenty of 
 self-made men, they hold on to their funds like 
 grim death, by George, once they've got 'em. 
 But I'm not that sort. If you wanted to travel, 
 you'd just have to say the word and tell your 
 maid to pack up. Now, honest, wouldn't you 
 like all that?" 
 
 She was looking at him, not unkindly, but from 
 such a long distance that his confident voice 
 dropped a little; his bold blue eyes fell to the 
 hand that still covered hers on the chair arm. 
 
 "I don't set up for a model of behaviour and 
 all that," he went on, evidently puzzled by her 
 attitude. "I haven't been any worse than other 
 rich men, I guess; but if you married me well, 
 you wouldn't have anything to complain of. I 
 can promise you that. I " 
 
 She drew her hand away. "I will marry you," 
 she interrupted. He was startled, for the mo- ^ 
 ment more bewildered than joyful. 
 
 "You mean it?" 
 
 She folded her arms across her chest, her gaze 
 fixed on the slim point of her shoe. 
 
 230
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "I don't care for you, you know;" she spoke 
 slowly and distinctly, as though to a foreigner. 
 "But it is no doubt as you say one has one's 
 price. And I don't seem to have any other way 
 out. If, knowing this, you still want me - 
 She lifted her eyes to his, and was surprised to 
 find pain in them. But he answered as she had 
 expected. 
 
 "I guess I want you any way I can get you!" 
 He bent towards her, but her folded arms inex- 
 plicably kept him back. "You really mean it? 
 You will do it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, then!" He kissed her almost timidly 
 and returned at once to his seat. "You'll like 
 me all right when you're used to it," he asserted, 
 confidence returning with the swelling realiza- 
 tion of success. "I'm a good-natured fellow, 
 you know; and I'll be awful proud of you, Cas- 
 sic. Of course, I know I've got my roughnesses 
 - 1 haven 't been what you might call parlour- 
 bred; but I belong to two swell clubs, and they 
 know me at Sherry's and Rector's and all those 
 places you ought to see 'em jump when I 
 come in. And I've made every cent of my 
 money myself. 'Tisn't such a bad record for 
 a fellow who started in at twelve without a bean 
 or a whole pair of pants, now, is it?" He bent 
 
 231
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 towards her again, taking both her hands as they 
 lay passively in her lap. She smiled faintly. 
 
 "I don't believe, you know, that I shall be 
 much comfort to you," she said. "I am spoiled, 
 and not at all good-natured. If you were wise, 
 you would run away." 
 
 "I guess not!" He crushed her hands to- 
 gether with a force that brought a pang of fear. 
 She had never questioned her power to dominate 
 him, to keep him just where she chose to have 
 him: through all their acquaintance he had been 
 like a clumsy tame bear, eager to obey her little 
 rod. What if he lost his fear of her? The 
 fright passed, but it had shaken the apathy that 
 had made this hour so drearily easy. Premoni- 
 tion of suffering to come drove her impatiently 
 from her chair. He sat looking after her with 
 a satisfaction that was still reassuringly humble. 
 
 "When will you do it, Cassie?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, any time." She was considering whether 
 it was worth while to forbid the shortening of her 
 name, but decided with a shrug that it was not. 
 
 "You mean soon?" 
 
 "To-morrow, if you like." 
 
 "You're joking!" But he had risen to his 
 feet, overwhelmingly tall. She turned to the 
 stairs, not pausing to look back until she was 
 several feet above him. 
 
 272
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Come with your motor at four to-morrow and 
 you can take me away with you, ' ' she said . ' ' There 
 is a minister of some sort in the next street; he 
 will do well enough." 
 
 "Cassie!" He sprang towards her, his face 
 flaming, but she checked him with a lifted hand. 
 The little rod was still all powerful. 
 
 "No; no more to-day.'* 
 
 "Oh, just one! That ain't fair, Cassie! Oh, 
 say!" 
 
 She smiled, a hard little smile, and shook 
 her head. " Good-by. To-morrow at four," she 
 said over her shoulder as she went composedly 
 to her room. He called imploringly after her, 
 but did not dare to follow by so much as one 
 step. Hope that she would relent kept him 
 staring up at her door for a long time; but intense 
 silence had settled over the house. Slowly and 
 reluctantly he turned to go. Even with the 
 front door open, he paused to look back and 
 listen. 
 
 Ronsard, meanwhile, had been disturbed by 
 lack of various dishes and implements which 
 Ann, in her heedless table clearing, had left 
 marooned on a side table. The sound of a strange 
 voice had kept him from intruding; now that it 
 had ceased, he ventured to come, with the cau- 
 tious, sidling tiptoe of one in fear of a lady's 
 
 233
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 train just ahead, to the open door of the great 
 hall and peer in, a bow of apology tremulously 
 ready. Burnett had just paused on the thresh- 
 old for a last look back; the light falling on his 
 upturned face brought out sharply the remains 
 of good looks above the straight sweep of his 
 heavy moustache; his hard blue eyes were for the 
 moment almost boyish. 
 
 Ronsard stood unseen and motionless, one 
 hand blindly extended, a look of terror on his 
 gaunt face. When Burnett closed the door 
 behind him, he Stole swiftly to a window and 
 watched him mount his car and ride away. The 
 bony fingers clutching the old man's jaw shook; 
 his dim eyes had shown a flicker of his ancient 
 Gallic fire, but it burned away into helpless dis- 
 tress. 
 
 "Emilie, Emilie," he whispered brokenly, and 
 groped his way back as though the room had 
 suddenly darkened. 
 
 As soon as the motor had disappeared, Cas- 
 sandra set out feverishly for a walk, trying to 
 deaden with weariness faculties that were showing 
 terrifying signs of waking up. It was late when 
 she came back, but all her miles of tramping had 
 not done for her what was wrought by the sight 
 of Caspar and Ann walking together in the gar- 
 den. 
 
 234
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "After all, what else is there?" she asked with 
 a sudden return to apathy as she entered the 
 great hall and dropped down into the nearest 
 chair. 
 
 "If I might speak to mademoiselle?" Ron- 
 sard, who had evidently been watching for her, 
 was hovering in the doorway, one hand bent 
 nervously over the other, his white head defer- 
 entially dropped. 
 
 "Come in, Ronsard;" her rapid voice always 
 took on a shade of warmth in speaking to the 
 chef. He stood hesitating before her. 
 
 "I am an old man," he began tremulously. 
 "Mademoiselle will forgive if I take a liberty. 
 The visitor that came to-day I chanced to 
 see him." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I have seen that gentleman before, years 
 ago. I am only the chef, I have no right to 
 speak;" his distressed eyes mutely begged her 
 pardon; "but mademoiselle has no one to warn 
 her, and " his voice broke and he wrung his 
 hands. "Ah, what can I do?" he muttered. 
 
 "You mean that you know something about 
 Mr. Burnett?" The warmth had left her voice, 
 but it was not unfriendly. He caught eagerly 
 at her help. 
 
 "Ah, my God, yes! There are things that 
 235
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 may not be told to a young lady; but if I might 
 be permitted to speak a warning, I who know 
 
 She rose. "I think I understand, Ronsard, 
 and I appreciate it. I really believe, you know, 
 that you are fond of me." She let her hand 
 touch his sleeve, then turned to go. "But I 
 can't let you talk about Mr. Burnett." 
 
 He took an eager step after her. "I will say 
 nothing. But there are dangers mademoi- 
 selle will at least not go out with him?" She 
 smiled. 
 
 " Mademoiselle is going out with him to- 
 morrow afternoon," she answered. 
 
 "Ah, no!" His lifted hands were eloquent of 
 despair. "Mademoiselle has no knowledge - 
 
 "That will do, Ronsard." And Cassandra 
 went away, leaving the old man stricken help- 
 lessly dumb in the attitude of imploring speech. 
 
 236
 
 X 
 
 THE evening dragged past, the next day's work 
 began, and still Cassandra had not told Dr. Di- 
 man. Neither by word nor look had he so much 
 as implied a question since Burnett left. She had 
 warned him that she would accept the man, but 
 he could have no suspicion that this was to be 
 her wedding day; and she could not tell him. 
 
 Towards noon Miss Snell, shattered and trem- 
 ulous, crept down the stairs on Ann's arm. She 
 had been told the truth about the flowers and 
 their ardent message, but no one seemed to con- 
 nect the incident with her break-down, a saving 
 of her pride that did much towards setting her 
 on her feet again. Dr. Diman had also let fall, 
 in quite another connection, that the librarian in 
 the Sciences and Religions room was named 
 Haines, not Barnes. 
 
 "I ran across him the other day, and knew it 
 the minute I saw him," he added. He had 
 guessed that Miss Snell connected the bald-headed, 
 shuffling little man with the mysterious offering, 
 but the idea did not amuse him; it only made 
 his eyes warmly sorry. 
 
 2 37
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 The knowledge that she had been unjust drove 
 the invalid to a pinched, unwilling, "Good morn- 
 ing, Miss Joyce." Cassandra responded readily. 
 The days when it was worth while to fight with 
 Miss Snell seemed very remote. She even picked 
 up a cushion that slipped from under Ann's 
 elbow and followed with it to the garden, having 
 an unacknowledged longing that her last day 
 might not seem ill-spent in her employer's eyes. 
 The knowledge that she was going back to ease 
 and splendour was but dust and ashes to her 
 spirit. Her way of life had bred in her no gen- 
 eral, theoretic condemnation of loveless mar- 
 riage: she did not despise herself for the course 
 she was taking indeed, it seemed to her tra- 
 ditions drearily right. Yet shame, a new and 
 intolerable anguish, was sweeping about her like 
 a prairie fire. The hours of the day were mill- 
 stones grinding her heart between them. 
 
 She had finished her packing in the night, so 
 after lunch she could go quietly on with her work. 
 Caspar's eyes searched her colourless face more 
 than once, but her dogged industry seemed an 
 intentional barrier between them, and he went 
 out without speaking. She managed to move so 
 that she could look after him from the window. 
 She might never see him again. 
 
 It was a grey, wind-swept afternoon, chilly 
 238
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 and cheerless. Dust was whirling in from the 
 street, and the weather-vanes pointed to coming 
 rain. Hattie, laden with pail and cloths, paused 
 by Cassandra's chair to look out. 
 
 "Nice day for washin' the windows," she ob- 
 served. Voluntary speech from her was so unusual 
 that Cassandra felt constrained to answer. 
 
 "Why don't you put it off?" she suggested. 
 
 "Take too much jaw," was the concise answer. 
 "She's set on having 'em done to-day. Have to 
 do 'em over again to-morrow, that's all." Thump- 
 ing down her pail, she fell to work. "I told that 
 Frenchman he'd have to answer the door," she 
 added. "I can't do everything at once." 
 
 The wind from the opened window blew un- 
 pleasantly on Cassandra, and she had risen to 
 find another seat when the sound of a motor 
 brought her to a terrified pause. It was not at 
 the front gate, but was coming in by the carriage 
 drive at the side to the verandah steps. Patients 
 often arrived in motors, and Burnett was not due 
 for two hours; yet fright ran away with her. 
 She found herself up in her own room before she 
 realized that she had fled. 
 
 Ronsard, fumbling with haste, opened the glass 
 doors to a professional-looking young man in 
 leather and bowed him into the room with a 
 deference that drew a silent snort from Hattie. 
 
 239
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 The man produced a package and a letter for 
 Miss Joyce, and explained that he was to get an 
 answer. 
 
 "But most certainly assuredly! If monsieur 
 will sit down, I will attend to it at once!" Ron- 
 sard was quite breathless with obligingness when 
 he opened Cassandra's door. 
 
 She saw the writing on the letter and her hand 
 shook as she took it. 
 
 "Is Mr. Burnett himself down there?" she 
 asked sharply. 
 
 Until she spoke, Ronsard's blurred memory 
 had forgotten the day before. Now it all came 
 back to him, and a look of haggard distress 
 deepened his eyes. 
 
 "No; it is a young man," he stammered. "No 
 doubt, his chauffeur - 
 
 She nodded in obvious relief and broke open 
 the letter, but he still hovered unhappily before 
 her. 
 
 "Perhaps he is not coming to take mademoi- 
 selle out to-day?" he ventured very softly. 
 
 "I fear he is," she returned with a brief smile. 
 "You may come back in ten minutes for my 
 answer." , 
 
 He retreate4 as far as the door, then halted in 
 desperation. 
 
 "Mademoiselle will never forgive me; but has 
 240
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 she spoken with the docteur about about this 
 going out " He was nerved for annihilation, 
 but she answered with unexpected patience. 
 
 "Not yet." 
 
 "Ah, then but she will talk to him first?" 
 He took a pleading step towards her. "But 
 that one thing ?" 
 
 "I shall be gone before he gets back, Ronsard. 
 He won't be home till after four to-day." 
 
 "But Mr. Burnett may be delayed;" he spoke 
 eagerly. "These machines they are always 
 delayed! He must take it on the ferry, where, 
 look, there are nails, there are twenty ways of 
 injury to the tyre, to the machinery!" The old 
 man was tremulous with the excitement of his 
 appeal. "So he must stop to mend it is it 
 not so ? And then, with the docteur at home 
 ah, mademoiselle will consult him, just to quiet 
 the heart of old Ronsard? The docteur knows 
 the world; he can do anything." 
 
 "Yes; if he is home before I go, I will tell 
 him;" she made the promise more to herself than 
 to him, and gave him little thought as he hurried 
 off. 
 
 More than ten minutes were spent on the answer 
 to Burnett's note. 
 
 " DEAREST CASSIE," he had written. " I am sending you a 
 wedding present. It was the best thing they had in Tiffany's, 
 
 241
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 but it isn't half good enough. Send me a line to say you haven't 
 forgotten four o'clock this afternoon. 
 
 " Yours always, t( Q fi 
 
 Before her, in its case, lay a blazing diamond 
 necklace. She glanced absently at it once or 
 twice, then, with a frown, closed the case and 
 pushed it away. "I am expecting you at four," 
 was finally all that she wrote. As Ronsard did 
 not come back, she took it down herself. Below, 
 the chauffeur was chaffing Hattie, who, rubbing 
 stolidly at a window, was giving back an occa- 
 sional sledge-hammer of speech without troubling 
 to turn her head. Returning to his car, he 
 found the old Frenchman hovering about it. His 
 eyes had an excited glitter, but he bowed with 
 wonderful suavity. 
 
 "Monsieur has a very fine machine here. I 
 take the liberty to admire it," he announced. 
 
 "Good car," the other assented, swinging into 
 his seat. Then, noticing that the chef's coat and 
 cap had been replaced by outdoor garments, he 
 made a patronizing offer of a lift. 
 
 "If monsieur is passing the station ? I am 
 a moment late." At a nod of assent, Ronsard 
 mounted with the agility of younger days. The 
 usual haziness of his sunken eyes was swept away 
 by some burning purpose. 
 
 An hour later Cassandra set her desk in order 
 242
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 and went up to her room to put the last things 
 into trunk and bag. Her mood made her choose 
 her plainest suit and an unadorned linen shirt. 
 She looked no less handsome than usual, but a 
 little more formidable, as she pinned her veil and 
 pulled on her gloves. Her final glance in the 
 mirror was as straight as the line of her lips. 
 
 As the clock struck four, there was a light 
 knock. She stood motionless until it was re- 
 peated, a little louder, then she composedly 
 crossed the room and opened the door. The firm 
 "I will be right down," stopped at her lips when 
 she saw Dr. Diman in place of the expected 
 Hattie. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Joyce, can you come and 
 He got so far before he realized her street attire; 
 then his glance passed her to a strapped trunk 
 and a bag lying beside it. "You are going 
 away?" he asked, after a pause that set her heart 
 beating heavily. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "With?" 
 
 "Yes. I told him I would marry him to-day." 
 
 His face showed a curious change. Not a 
 muscle flinched, the eyes were as gravely im- 
 personal as ever; yet the colour slowly receded 
 until a ghastly grey-white had replaced the usual 
 ruddy brown. She had seen colour change often 
 
 2 43
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 enough before, but never so inexorably, with 
 such deadly composure. It made her feel a little 
 sick as though she had witnessed an appall- 
 ing accident. She was too hard pressed, just 
 then, keeping her own brave front to wonder 
 why he should suffer. 
 
 "When do you expect him?" His voice was 
 wholly controlled, and she strung herself to answer 
 in the same key. 
 
 "Now about four o'clock. I will send back 
 for my trunks when I know my address." 
 
 "Is there anything I can do for you?" 
 
 "No, thank you. I was planning to write 
 you a note. I am not so unappreciative as I 
 - seem." 
 
 "Yes that is all right. I understand." He 
 held out his hand. "If you ever do need a 
 friend " 
 
 She clung to it rather than shook it. "What 
 were you going to ask me to do?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing of any importance. Simply to 
 read some proofs with me. They can - 
 
 "I should like to do it. Motors are so often 
 late, and I am all ready. Please let me." 
 
 "If you are sure " 
 
 "Please." 
 
 She led the way down-stairs, drawing off her 
 gloves and turning her veil back over her hat. 
 
 244
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Proofs for the new edition of his book on nervous 
 diseases lay on the table. He drew up a chair 
 for her and gave her a typewritten manuscript 
 to read from, following with suspended pen 
 down the printed slips. The sunny silence of 
 the great house was 'unbroken; the clock ticked 
 of peace and orderly leisure. Half an hour had 
 slipped past when down the quiet street the horn 
 of a motor sounded. Cassandra's voice faltered, 
 then went on. The horn blew again, almost at 
 the gate. Caspar lifted his head, but she kept 
 her eyes on the page and ploughed steadily ahead. 
 The horn sounded a third time, but more faintly. 
 The car had whirred past. 
 
 "Would you mind repeating that last para- 
 graph?" said Caspar. 
 
 Five came, and half past; then six. 
 
 "Your voice is tired. You must stop." His 
 normal colour had returned long ago, yet he looked 
 indefinably haggard. The past two hours had 
 left their more legible mark on Cassandra; there 
 were bluish shadows under her eyes. She faced 
 the situation with her characteristic directness. 
 
 "I suppose the machine broke down; but it is 
 odd that I don't get a message." 
 
 "There was no chance for misunderstanding 
 about the time, or the day?" 
 
 "None, whatever." 
 
 2 -l5
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Ah, well, there will be some perfectly simple 
 explanation." The reassuring intention of his 
 voice brought a dry smile. 
 
 "I am not afraid that he has changed his mind! 
 No such- ' she stopped abruptly. "I might 
 as well go and take my hat off, however. You 
 will probably have to keep me for dinner." 
 
 "Well, I must say! If it isn't too exactly 
 like !" Miss Myrtle's harassed voice preceded 
 her as she came confusedly down with her usual 
 air of pursuing an escaping soul. "Hattie has 
 just this moment told me that Ronsard has dis- 
 appeared. Dinner isn't touched, of course. He 
 has been gone all the afternoon. I do think 
 this expecting to get work done by lunatics and 
 maniacs - Her broken sentences trailed after 
 her as she made for the kitchen, tugging ineffec- 
 tually at the fastening of a stiff cuff. 
 
 "Poor old Myrtle!" said Caspar with a faint 
 smile. 
 
 "Ah, poor old everybody!" Cassandra echoed 
 passionately, and the straight line of her lips 
 quivered. She went swiftly to her room. 
 
 Caspar, after looking in Ronsard's room and 
 about the garden, strolled down to the gate. 
 Stragglers from the last train were still passing, 
 and presently he saw the old chef, coming vaguely, 
 as though it was his feet and not his worn brain 
 
 246
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 that remembered the way. He stared blankly 
 at the doctor, his eyes so blind and distressed 
 that Caspar feared the end of intelligence had 
 come. Then his face lighted touchingly. 
 
 "Ah, monsieur is at home! Then all will be 
 well," he said with weary relief. 
 
 "Where have you been? To town?" 
 "I think it was to the ferry." He put his hands 
 to his head in a confused effort at memory. "I 
 am an old man I forget. It was necessary to 
 wait and wait and then I think I took a wrong 
 train there was something but the docteur is 
 at home," he added, going back to his simple relief. 
 "Perhaps you will remember after dinner." 
 The last word awoke him sharply to the pres- 
 ent. "Ah, my God, the dinner!" He fled to the 
 house, appearing breathless with apologies be- 
 fore Miss Myrtle could do more than poke dis- 
 tressfully at the fire and jerk open various drawers 
 and cupboards; but his haste seemed wholly to 
 have upset what little head the day had left him. 
 Dinner was a strangely conglomerate meal; 
 vegetable dishes, carefully heated and covered, 
 were found to contain nothing whatever, salt and 
 pepper were trebled in one place and omitted 
 everywhere else, and the sauce for the pudding 
 tried to take the place of the gravy, with inde- 
 scribable results. Miss Myrtle almost cried. 
 
 247
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "Nobody knows what I go through," she 
 lamented. "Though I am used to it, and can 
 manage better than anyone else could," she added 
 with a hasty glance at her brother. 
 
 "I am sure you do, Myrtle," he assented with 
 unexpected cordiality as they rose from the 
 table. 
 
 Ann Blossom, still resolutely cheerful, followed 
 Miss Snell up-stairs with a book. Cassandra 
 turned expectantly to the proofs; then saw that 
 Caspar had his hat in his hand. 
 
 "Oh, you are not going out?" Her voice was 
 more revealing than she knew. He looked at 
 her with troubled eyes. 
 
 "I have a medical meeting." 
 
 "And you must go to it?" 
 
 "I am supposed to speak." 
 
 "Oh, I can't wait here alone! And I may 
 never see you again. It is all so dreadful!" 
 broke from her. 
 
 "You think he is coming?" 
 
 "Of course he is coming! And to sit here 
 waiting- Her hands were pressed feverishly 
 against her cheeks and she looked out from be- 
 tween them in open misery. "You must help 
 me!" 
 
 Many women had cried "Help me!" to Caspar 
 Diman, and found help, even when there was no 
 
 248
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 help to be given, in the compassionate response 
 of his whole being to the appeal. Yet not one of 
 them had seen such an answer as Cassandra 
 would have read in his face had her sight not 
 been blurred by sudden tears. She fought her 
 way back to self-control, conscious that he was 
 telephoning to one and another, making arrange- 
 ments for a substitute speaker. Ten minutes 
 later he took the chair beside her and picked up 
 the proofs. 
 
 "Skip the next four pages," he said. "They 
 are coming out." 
 
 "You mean this about the case of Miss S?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 An unwelcome idea, suggested by a sentence 
 of the text, made her ask sharply, "Why?" 
 
 "Because I shall have to wait a little longer to 
 prove that I was right about that case. I know 
 I am, but the facts just now don't warrant my 
 saying so." 
 
 "It is Miss Snell," said Cassandra, "and I 
 have spoiled it for you." 
 
 "Perhaps not. She had not been quite so 
 well lately, anyway. I noticed it before this 
 happened." 
 
 "That was probably because I quarrelled with 
 her and teased her. I did, very often." Cas- 
 sandra spoke baldly, as if it were all too remote 
 
 249
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 to matter much/ "I would try to make it up if 
 I were not going," she added. 
 
 She began to read at once, listening tensely 
 for a sound in the street. She believed at first 
 that she was impatient to* have Burnett come and 
 "get it over with.;" but a sudden peal at the door- 
 bell undeceived her. It was her first encounter 
 with genuine panic terror; and it left her shaken 
 beyond possibility of concealment. Caspar, when 
 he turned from directing the stranger at the door, 
 found the manuscript strewing the rug and Cas- 
 sandra, white and shaking, clinging to the back 
 of a chair. His own startled nerves found relief 
 in anger. 
 
 "Cassandra, why do you do this thing?" he 
 demanded hotly. It was the best possible tone 
 to steady her; her spirit, momentarily crushed, 
 rose to the encounter. 
 
 "What else can I do? I must leave here." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 She could not tell him the main reason. "Be- 
 cause I fail, fail! I do only harm. Besides, you 
 don't need me." 
 
 "What harm do you refer to?" 
 
 "Miss Snell. I have undone all your work 
 with her. I didn't know what it all meant, your 
 care for her, till now, reading this book. I have 
 been an ignorant fool." 
 
 250
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "You had to learn, my poor child." 
 
 "You don't want me to stay you know it." 
 The impulse to test him rose overwhelmingly. 
 "You have your Ann Blossom." She tried to 
 say it lightly, but a quiver of resentment betrayed 
 itself. He looked amazed. 
 
 "What on earth has Ann Blossom to do with 
 you or your work? Besides, she will leave in 
 the fall." 
 
 "You are not -" the impetuous question 
 faltered. 
 
 "I am not ?" he insisted. 
 
 She knelt down to gather up the scattered 
 pages. "Oh, nothing. But I happened to see 
 her in your arms the other night, and I 
 naturally " 
 
 The charge did not seem to disturb him. "So 
 she was, poor little soul! Can you see only one 
 meaning to an act of affection between a man 
 and a woman?" She would not answer or look 
 up, so he sat down very close to where she knelt. 
 "My dear girl, you can't marry this man!" 
 
 "But I said I would!" 
 
 "That is a pity, but it cannot be helped. If 
 you had seen your face, you poor child." He 
 took one of her cold hands and began to rub it 
 between his. 
 
 "Perhaps he really isn't coming." She looked 
 251
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 up, the colour and freshness marvellously restored 
 to her face. "I ought to feel ashamed and dis- 
 graced, shouldn 't I ? But I am only so glad and 
 relieved." She gave him her other hand, still 
 half kneeling at his feet. "But what can I do 
 if I stay? How can I really help you?" 
 
 "Really help me?" he repeated, with little 
 attention to spare for the words: both were living 
 wholly in the clasped hands which their eyes so 
 persistently ignored. 
 
 "Yes. I don't want to be just a derelict. You 
 say I have brains; why don't you make some 
 real use of them?" 
 
 He forced his attention to the subject and medi- 
 tated in smiling silence for a few moments. Then 
 he pressed her hands together, laid them gently 
 back in her lap, and went into his office, returning 
 with two desk drawers and a cigar box in his 
 hands. They were strewn with papers, but when 
 these were lifted out, an amazing quantity of 
 greenbacks, chiefly in crumpled wads, was un- 
 covered. 
 
 "Look at them!" he exclaimed in humorous 
 contempt. "Isn't that a way to do business? 
 You have heard my sister say a great many times 
 that I could be a rich man if I would take the 
 trouble." He stood up, his hands rammed into 
 his pockets. "Well, it is quite true. I forget 
 
 252
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 to send out my bills or to collect them, and I 
 can't seem to bother about investments. I have 
 not cared before, but lately it has been growing 
 on me that I want to be rich." 
 
 "Why?" she asked quickly. 
 
 "Because then I could reach more people, do 
 more for them. I want to put a big ell on this 
 house and make an informal sanitorium of it, 
 so that I can have more of my patients under my 
 daily care. I want some expensive equipment 
 and a capable nurse at the head. Oh, I have 
 any number of plans; but someone has got to be 
 my business manager I am simply incapable 
 of finance. Why not you?" 
 
 She was looking up eagerly. "Do you really 
 think I could?" 
 
 "I know it. Here is my bank book; deposit 
 all that and get it balanced to-morrow. Then I 
 will turn over to you my papers, if I can find 
 'em. There's an empty house or two you might 
 look over; they could be rented if they were 
 fixed up. And there is any quantity of money 
 owing me. We will get at it in the morning, and 
 then I never want to hear about it again. Find 
 a legal or a business adviser, if you like, but don't 
 expect any help from me." 
 
 "Oh, I think that will be simply splendid!" 
 All the latent capability of her nature rose to the 
 
 253
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 appeal. "And when you can afford the ell, I 
 will have it built I learned to bully architects 
 when I was seventeen. And by and by we will 
 build you a little house down in one corner of 
 the garden, so that you can have your free time 
 to yourself and write more books and get so rich 
 and famous that ' She broke into a laugh, 
 quite the youngest sound that he had ever heard 
 from her. "Oh, I shall like this!" She feU to 
 smoothing and counting the money, while Caspar 
 made a rough sketch of his proposed sanitorium. 
 Her interests in its details surprised him. 
 
 "You don't really care about my derelicts," 
 he objected. 
 
 "No; but I like to have you cure them when 
 other doctors can't," she said frankly. "I do 
 respect your work, you know. And I want you 
 to be so famous that they will come from all 
 over the country to you. I like success!" 
 
 He laughed at her, but did not argue the point. 
 "How much have I there several hundred 
 dollars?" 
 
 "Very nearly two thousand," was the severe 
 answer. "I should say you did need a business 
 manager!" 
 
 They had a very happy time over their plans. 
 Burnett was forgotten ; he evidently was not com- 
 ing that night, and the morrow could take care of 
 
 254
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 itself. Relief from suspense, and the conviction 
 that, however little Caspar might care for her, he 
 was not in love with Ann Blossom, set free in 
 Cassandra a fiery exultation that dazzled the man, 
 but presently troubled the doctor. He took papers 
 and bills away from her and drew her to her feet. 
 
 "You must go to bed," he told her. "And I 
 will give you some trional to take up with you in 
 case you can't sleep." 
 
 "I don't want to sleep!" 
 
 "But I want you to;" an answer which Cas- 
 sandra, the imperious, found inexpressibly dear 
 and satisfying. 
 
 When she had gone, Caspar sat as he had so 
 often sat, these past weeks, with head thrown back 
 and eyes lifted towards the door of the southeast 
 chamber. His face was dreamily inscrutable, 
 but his intense bodily stillness did not suggest 
 passivity; it was rather the stillness of one dazed 
 by a vision. 
 
 The striking of a clock, an hour later, roused 
 him. He looked about as though startled to 
 find his surroundings unchanged, and pushed a 
 hand up through his rough, heavy hair to waken 
 himself more clearly to the present. A step on 
 the gravel outside suggested Ernest, and he 
 threw open the front door in hospitable welcome, 
 but was confronted by a stranger, a little, grey, 
 
 2 55
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 clerkly man with a manner of patient precision. 
 He held a much-sealed package under one arm 
 and read from the address of a letter: 
 
 "Miss Cassandra Joyce, care of Dr. C. Diman?" 
 
 "Yes, she is here, but she has gone to bed." 
 Caspar motioned him in. "Can you leave it 
 with me?" 
 
 The man regretted with dry courtesy that he 
 must disturb the young lady. There was. no 
 answer, but he must execute his commission with 
 her in person and receive her signature. Caspar 
 heard her frightened start at his knock, and spoke 
 reassuringly through the door, then went down- 
 stairs, leaving the messenger to transact his busi- 
 ness. A few moments later the man passed out 
 with body deferentially bent, closing the door 
 noiselessly behind him. 
 
 It was a long time before Cassandra's door 
 opened again, so long that Caspar had begun to 
 wonder if his conviction that she would come to 
 him were not a foolish delusion. She was still 
 in the kimono that she had thrown about her, 
 and above her slippers there was a gleam of bare 
 ankles, but she was as unconscious of these as 
 she was of the great brown braid that fell heavily 
 across one shoulder. Her face was not exactly 
 frightened, but something in it impelled him 
 towards her with a half- suppressed, 
 
 256
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "My dear girl! What is it?" he added. 
 
 The seals of the package she held were still 
 unbroken, but she silently offered him the letter 
 and dropped into a chair with averted face. For 
 a moment his eyes could not leave her splendid 
 youth; then he turned up the lamp and sat down 
 on the far side of the table. 
 
 The letter was written- in an odd, straggling 
 fashion, the lines running at chance angles, but 
 the words painstakingly legible: 
 
 DEAREST CASSIE, 
 
 It's all up with me. Auto smash you'll see it all O.K. 
 in papers, except that tyre didn't burst it was cut. Some 
 devil must have carved it on the ferry boat. Neat job held 
 till we got under full speed. Not suffering to speak of, but 
 they're going to take my leg off presently, and my heart has 
 been rather bum of late years, so I guess they think so, too. 
 
 Cassie, I don't want you to appear in my will can't bear 
 to have you mixed up with the various widows that will be 
 hustling for crpe when they see the morning papers. (All 
 liars.) Besides, I've got a sister that would put up a fight, 
 and you're too good to be mixed up in that; so I have signed 
 some things over to you, and my sec. is raking together all 
 the portable property he can lay hands on, to bring out to you 
 to-night don't mind him, he's a grey rat for secrecy. Could 
 do better by you with more time, but it's a decent little fortune 
 and will take you out of that House of Correction. Makes me 
 boil now to think of you there. It was the real thing with 
 me, Cassie, and losing you now is pretty awful. But I guess 
 you'll be sort of relieved. 
 
 Good-by, my girl. God bless you. 
 
 G. B. 
 
 257
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 Enclosed with the letter was a typewritten list 
 of deeds and securities, the contents of the sealed 
 package. Across the foot of this was written in 
 a wooden, clerical hand: "Mr. Burnett passed 
 away at 9.13 while under the influence of ether." 
 
 Caspar folded the papers, replaced them in the 
 envelope, and rose. As she made no motion to 
 take it from him, he laid it on her knee. 
 
 "Well, now you are free to go back to your own 
 world," he said in a tone of bald commonplace. 
 Her head seemed too heavy to lift; she did not 
 look at him. 
 
 " Yes; now I am free to go back," she assented, 
 dragging herself to her feet. At her door she 
 paused, half turning, but Caspar had gone to 
 lock up,
 
 XI 
 
 ANN BLOSSOM slept very little that night. Her 
 resolute cheerfulness always went out like a 
 blown candle when she closed the door of her 
 room, and every night it seemed to her that by 
 no strength of will could she ever light it again. 
 She had watched feverishly all day for Ernest's 
 return, but he had not come or sent word sent 
 word to her, at least ; that big, handsome, remorse- 
 less girl who had driven him away might have 
 heard. Ann writhed with anger at the thought, 
 yet it was a helpless anger, such as a heathen 
 might have felt against heathen gods. Cassandra 
 stood for a power that must inevitably brush aside 
 any frail Ann Blossom. 
 
 Soon after dawn she dressed and went softly 
 down-stairs, impatient for the relief of bodily 
 movement. A radiant morning w r as waiting to 
 pour in at doors and windows as she opened 
 them, and a breath of hope seemed to follow the 
 sunny tide. 
 
 "Things sometimes come right." she told her- 
 self with a sudden lifting of spirit as she went to 
 find the flower scissors. An hour later she was 
 
 259
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 humming to herself as she brought the vases out 
 on the steps and sat down before them with her 
 basket of hardy, sweet-smelling little roses. 
 
 "You are out early," said a voice from the 
 gate. The face she lifted was uncontrollably 
 glad. 
 
 "Oh, Ernest!" She started up, the roses 
 tumbling about her; then she remembered, and 
 effaced the "moment with a cordial, "How very 
 nice to see you back," and an outstretched hand. 
 
 "It is good to be here," he assented in the 
 same key. He looked as thin and tired as she 
 did herself when the glow of meeting had faded. 
 
 "Have you been off in the country?" she asked 
 with polite interest. 
 
 "Yes; a long way." He dropped down at the 
 other end of her step, his back against the pillar, 
 looking at her, as he so often had, over his clasped 
 knee. "How is the doctor?" 
 
 "Rather tired and rushed, dear soul. Miss 
 Snell has been ill." 
 
 "Too bad," absently. 
 
 "I am afraid I have a blow for you," Ann went 
 on brightly. 
 
 "Ah, I know you have," he muttered, wincing, 
 but she did not hear. 
 
 "I have not been told it, but I think Miss 
 Joyce is going away." It was spoken with 
 
 260
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 decently regretful sympathy. "I happened to 
 see that her trunks are all packed." 
 
 "Is that all the blow I'm to get?" 
 
 "Isn't it enough?" 
 
 "Well, you can tell me when you get ready. 
 Do you know what I have been doing ? In- 
 vestigating a chance to spend the rest of the sum- 
 mer in a boys' camp. A man I "know runs it, 
 and he is only too glad to have me come and 
 help. Don't you think it is a good scheme?" 
 
 "You will go away altogether?" Ann's 
 pride, always of a flimsy order, collapsed without 
 a struggle before the shock of the news. Her 
 voice was despairing. He looked intently into 
 her face. 
 
 "Ann, do you know why I went?" he de- 
 manded, leaning towards her. A motion of her 
 bent head answered. "I thought I had suddenly 
 seen the truth, and that I had been a blind ass 
 not to see it before that you cared for Dr. 
 Diman." 
 
 "Cared for that way?" Her amazement 
 needed no further denial. 
 
 "But I saw you last Friday night, you and 
 him" 
 
 "Do you mean when I was crying?" she asked 
 after a puzzled moment. 
 
 "Were you crying?" . He brushed aside the 
 261
 
 OPEN HOUSE ' 
 
 flowers that lay between them. "I didn't know 
 that." 
 
 "I love him perhaps better than anyone 
 on earth," she explained gravely; "but but 
 not Oh, how could you think such a thing!" 
 
 "Well, it is because I couldn't quite go on 
 thinking it that I came back. There were things, 
 little things, that I couldn 't forget or ignore - 
 you are so true, Ann Blossom ! So I had to come 
 back for an explanation. Why were you cry- 
 ing?" he added suddenly. The colour swept up 
 into her transparent face, and he laughed, put- 
 ting his arm along the step behind her. "Ann 
 Blossom, why did you cry?" he insisted. 
 
 She curled into the arm as inevitably as thirsty 
 ground drinks up water. Her shining face was 
 lifted for a breathless, "Oh, Ernest!" before it 
 was hidden against his. "Things sometimes do 
 come right," she marvelled in an inarticulate little 
 murmur. 
 
 The scattered roses were drooping and the vases 
 still stood in an empty row when Miss Myrtle's 
 lamentations, preceding her hurrying skirts, drove 
 the two on the step to guilty activity. 
 
 "What else can we expect, with a loony - 
 and I having to go off just as never mind the 
 flowers now, Ann, there is no time to Oh, how 
 do you do, Mr. Cunningham? I am glad to 
 
 262
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 see you back, but you won't get much breakfast. 
 That Frenchman has gone raving crazy!" 
 
 "Oh, Miss Myrtle!" Ann looked frightened. 
 "Where is he what is he doing?" 
 
 "He's sitting like a log in the sun at the back 
 door, and the fire not so much as started ! Hattie 
 came and told me she couldn't do anything 
 with him, and now Caspar is trying his hand. 
 I must say when it comes to a crazy cook ! 
 Ironing day, of course. And Aunt Jennie laid 
 up with rheumatism and wanting me she has 
 just telephoned. I don't know what to do. Do 
 you think you could set the table?" 
 
 "Why, of course!" 
 
 "Well, please don't forget the tile under the hot 
 milk, this time; I haven't got that mark off the 
 table yet." And Miss Myrtle hastened towards 
 the kitchen, sweeping Ann along with her a 
 radiant, singing Ann. Caspar, hearing her a 
 little later, paused at the dining-room door. 
 
 "Well, hello!" he commented. She flew to him. 
 
 "Oh, Dr. Diman, he's come back," she whis- 
 pered. "And and he wasn't even dazzled. 
 It's all right, dearest!" 
 
 His smile was as warm-hearted as the arms he 
 put about her. "Bless you, Ann!" he exclaimed. 
 Then they both laughed at Miss Myrtle's abrupt 
 halt and shocked countenance. 
 
 263
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "He is just wishing me joy, Miss Myrtle," Ann 
 explained. "Won't you, too? It's Ernest!" 
 
 "Well, I'm sure I hope you will be very happy," 
 Miss Myrtle admitted. She evidently tried to 
 stop there, but her feelings were too much for 
 her. "Though how you two will ever manage 
 to run a house!" she burst forth. 
 
 Their laugh was echoed in the great hall. 
 Cassandra, who had just greeted Ernest rather 
 constrainedly, turned swiftly back to him with 
 outstretched hand and face vividly lighted. 
 
 "So I was all wrong?" she said. 
 
 "All wrong," he repeated, his pleasant brown 
 eyes gladly responsive. 
 
 Ronsard continued to sit peacefully in the sun. 
 When questioned, he listened with strained atten- 
 tion, but clouded eyes, and answered with his 
 pathetic deference: 
 
 "I am an old man I forget." Miss Myrtle 
 was in despair at leaving, and her brother showed 
 a flattering reluctance to losing her. 
 
 "Come back the minute Aunt Jennie can 
 spare you," he urged, and re-entered the house 
 with the air of having shouldered a load. Cas- 
 sandra had come down late, and they met as 
 though there had been no last night. She was 
 told of Ronsard 's collapse. 
 
 "I am afraid I must have the old boy shut 
 264
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 up," he added, "and I think if you were to reas- 
 sure him in his own tongue, he might be less upset 
 by the change. Would you mind trying?" 
 
 "But why can't he stay?" she urged. "If 
 he seems peaceful and harmless. There is plenty 
 of room." 
 
 He hesitated. "I don't want to worry you," he 
 said finally. "He seems perfectly harmless, yet 
 just now I found the carving knife, the little, 
 sharp one, up in his room. That made me feel 
 that he ought to be watched. I am not afraid of 
 his hurting anyone but himself, of course," he 
 added, for Cassandra was looking at him with 
 startled eyes. 
 
 She turned away, stunned by a new suspicion. 
 Ronsard's feverish desire to prevent her going 
 out with Burnett had been forgotten, shrugged 
 away with grim amusement for the suggestion 
 that she was a jeune fille, to be guarded. Now 
 his distress came vividly back, coupled with a 
 sentence of Burnett's letter: "tyre didn't burst 
 - some devil must have carved it on the ferry." 
 Could the old chef have cared as much as that? 
 His absence yesterday afternoon and this mental 
 collapse fitted in as neatly with the idea as the 
 borrowed knife. Then the far-off tragedy of 
 his daughter Emilie's fate offered a link before 
 which she shrank in quick repulsion. 
 
 265
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "If you are at all afraid " Caspar was say- 
 ing. 
 
 "I am not. He won't do anything," she in- 
 terrupted. "Take the knife away and let him 
 sit in the sun as long as he can, poor soul! He 
 can't last long, can he?" 
 
 Caspar welcomed the suggestion. "No; he may 
 go any day, and I shall be thankful not to disturb 
 him if it is fair to the rest of you." 
 
 "I want to be very good to him," she said with 
 unexpected vehemence. 
 
 Hattie took the chef's place; but one meal of 
 her cooking was more than enough. For years 
 she had seen Ronsard perform delicate miracles 
 of broiling; yet, entrusted with lamb chops, her 
 one idea was to fry them long and thoroughly 
 and serve them well chilled. Miss Snell, finding 
 a clinging milk-skin in her cocoa, left the table 
 in shuddering horror, and, as Ann and Ernest 
 had forgotten to come, Cassandra was left alone 
 with the dismayed housekeeper. 
 
 "I suppose Ronsard has spoiled us," he ad- 
 mitted, after a conscientious attempt to eat some 
 hopelessly sour stewed plums. "I don't see how 
 we can stand many such meals." 
 
 "Why should we?" she returned. "I will go 
 up to town this afternoon, if you like, and find 
 us a good cook." The "us" sounded natural 
 
 266
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 and unconscious, and her face was wholly com- 
 posed under his keen glance. Before he could 
 bring out the difficult question in words, she had 
 started to her feet. "If I am quick, I can catch 
 the one-forty," she added, and hurried away, 
 leaving the question still suspended between them. 
 She came back triumphantly at six o'clock with 
 a Scotch-Irish treasure and an engagement pres- 
 ent for Ann a chain of amethysts that caused 
 the girl to look troubled after her first wild enthu- 
 siasm. 
 
 "But you shouldn't have," she faltered. 
 
 "But I should," returned Cassandra. "I have 
 had some money left me, and this is my first 
 purchase. You won't enjoy it half as much as 
 I did." 
 
 "Oh, won't I?" Ann kissed the shining chain 
 and squeezed Cassandra's hand. "I am so 
 glad for you. I 'hope it is enough to give you 
 everything you want." 
 
 "Everything I want to buy," she assented. 
 
 "That is lovely. Now I can be perfectly happy 
 about my darling chain; it's just like liquid sun- 
 light. And then, to have it from you! Isn't it 
 wonderful, how things come right?" 
 
 "It really is," Cassandra laughed. She felt 
 very kindly towards Ann Blossom. 
 
 After dinner, Dr. Diman went bravely out to 
 267
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 interview the new cook. He came back looking 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 "She is an excellent woman, excellent," he 
 assured Cassandra. 
 
 "You didn't like her!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I did; I respected her enormously. 
 She was kind to me, but, someway, she made me 
 feel that my sole office was to pay the bills." 
 
 "But isn't that just what you want freedom 
 from interruption?" 
 
 "Of course. But how can I tell Myrtle I did 
 the housekeeping if I don't dare go near the 
 kitchen?" 
 
 Cassandra's laugh was wicked. "I don't be- 
 lieve that Miss Myrtle will go near the kitchen 
 very much. Janet is, as you say, kind; but she 
 is definite." 
 
 "Very definite. She intimated that she would 
 see me for ten minutes every morning, and that 
 I need give myself no further trouble." 
 
 "And yet you are not satisfied," she com- 
 plained. 
 
 "Yes, I am. Only I feel mortified. I have a 
 suspicion that I rather slunk out of the kitchen. 
 Do you think, if I strode back and talked in a 
 loud voice, it would wipe out the impression?" 
 
 "Never. Your only hope is to see her always 
 on your territory; make her come to your office 
 
 268
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 for orders. In the kitchen she will invariably 
 have the upper hand." 
 
 "Oh, poor old Myrtle!" he exclaimed, and 
 they laughed together. Then she grew suddenly 
 grave. 
 
 "How heartless I am!" she said, seating her- 
 self on the ledge of an open window and turning 
 her face towards the dusky garden. He took the 
 adjoining ledge, as he had the day of her arrival, 
 when he had caught his first glimpse of a helpless 
 and homesick girl. 
 
 "Heartless?" The sympathy in his voice was 
 impelling. 
 
 "The man I was going to marry has not been 
 dead twenty-four hours, and I am gay I am 
 happier than I have ever been before in my 
 life." 
 
 "You were not going to marry him!" he spoke 
 vehemently. "You wrong yourself no power 
 on earth could have got you past that door." 
 
 "No; you have got to know me just as I am. 
 I would have gone with him if he had come on 
 time." 
 
 "Do you really mean that money could have 
 made such a man tolerable to you?" 
 
 "No I hated him. But I couldn't see any- 
 thing else to do." She pressed her palms over 
 her eyes. "Oh, it was horrible, horrible!" 
 
 269
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "I am glad it was," he said roughly, starting 
 to his feet. "If I believed that you would really 
 have gone She stopped him with implor- 
 ing hands. 
 
 "Don't say it, don't say it! I had to go I 
 had lost all hope. But it was only a way of com- 
 mitting suicide. Can't you see it like that? 
 Can't you forgive me?" 
 
 "Answer me one thing. Can you conceive 
 that any crisis, any hopelessness, would bring 
 you to such a marriage again?" 
 
 "Oh, no, no! Nothing! Oh, Caspar, noth- 
 ing!" 
 
 He took her hands into his and kissed them. 
 
 "You would not have gone, my girl," he said. 
 "You believe you would, but you would not." 
 
 " Oh, I wish that were true," she cried wretch- 
 edly. "Do you think I ought not to take his 
 money?" she added. He started; for the mo- 
 ment he had forgotten her new position, and 
 the memory raised a sudden barrier between 
 them. 
 
 "Why not?" he returned dispassionately, 
 after a blank pause. "If, as you insist, you 
 would have gone with him, you have every right 
 to it." 
 
 "And if I would not have?" she asked, hurt 
 and chilled by the change in him. 
 
 270
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "That is rather a complex question. Why 
 raise it? He wanted you to have it, and it gives 
 you what you most want, your freedom. I 
 should take it and be happy." He left her to 
 answer the telephone, and did not come back. 
 
 The days went by, and still Cassandra said 
 nothing about going. She quietly took over the 
 housekeeping, saw that Ronsard was comfort- 
 able in his gentle vacantness and that Miss Snell's 
 wants were supplied, and brought a new sense 
 of orderly ease into the establishment. Ann in 
 her radiant happiness was of no slightest practical 
 use, so Cassandra quietly provided a young girl 
 assistant, and the household routine went forward 
 with a silent smoothness that filled Caspar with 
 amazement and gratitude. The troubled ques- 
 tion never quite left his eyes, but she gave him 
 no chance to ask it. She was very alert and satis- 
 fied these days, proud of her new-found capabil- 
 ities, buoyed with a secret gladness that vibrated 
 sometimes in her deep, rapid voice, or shone out 
 thinly veiled as amusement in her straight glance. 
 Caspar could make nothing of her, and lost 
 weight visibly in the effort to wait in silent pa- 
 tience. All his serene faith in his own dominance 
 over the course of events had been taken from 
 him on the night when he and she had waited 
 together for Burnett's coming and forgotten 
 
 271
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 him. Before that, he had seen clearly enough 
 what the future might bring, had debated its 
 consequences and been content to wait. Now 
 he was sure of nothing but the overwhelming 
 desire of his heart ; cared for nothing but the hope 
 that it might be satisfied. 
 
 She worked very hard. He had not given her 
 the promised business papers, but she seemed 
 to have found them for herself and to have taken 
 hold of his affairs with a firm grasp. He pro- 
 tested at last. 
 
 "This won't do," he exclaimed when he had 
 found her, one late afternoon, bending over some 
 accounts with the flushed cheeks of weariness. 
 "I can't have a young woman of wealth slaving 
 over my puny rents and dividends." 
 
 She did not look up. "If you are paid thirty 
 dollars a month, you have to earn a dollar a 
 day," she reminded him, a mischievous twist of 
 her lips belying her gravity. 
 
 "No doubt; but you need not earn three times 
 that amount. Come and take a walk with me." 
 
 Her pen still travelled busily down the columns 
 of figures. "If you are in the business world, 
 the first law is that you deliver the goods," she 
 murmured. He had to laugh. 
 
 "Don't! Did I really dare say all that to 
 you?" 
 
 272
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 "'Dare'? How affected of you! Is there 
 anything on earth that you wouldn't dare say?" 
 
 "I assure you, my dear, there is;" with a 
 meaningful emphasis that sent her eyes hastily 
 back to the accounts. "Haven't you seen me 
 trying for a week?" 
 
 "A week isn't very long." 
 
 "Not to middle age, perhaps." They laughed 
 at the allusion. "I am young, Cassandra! Don't 
 you believe it now?" 
 
 The running sap seemed to start in the desk 
 under her elbows and the floor beneath her feet. 
 "Are you rash and selfish and unwise?" she 
 insisted. 
 
 "Ah, I don't want to be unwise for you! That 
 is just the trouble." 
 
 The pause that followed depressed and fright- 
 ened her. She caught blindly at another topic. 
 
 "Miss Myrtle is coming back to-morrow," she 
 reminded him. 
 
 "But not as housekeeper. Never again!" he 
 declared. "Though what we shall do when 
 you ' 
 
 "You will hurt her feelings." 
 
 "Why, hasn't she been wailing for years " 
 
 "She will be hurt, just the same. I will tell 
 you promote her to be keeper of the linen in 
 the new sanitorium. That will give her just 
 
 273
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 about trouble enough. Don't you think we can 
 have it done by Christmas, if we go right to 
 work?" She was drawing little plans on the 
 back of an envelope with anxious pains. 
 
 "But am I in a position to undertake it?" 
 
 "Why, I will put it through for you." She 
 tried desperately to say it casually. "As for the 
 money, you know I have- The sentence 
 trailed off abstractedly, as she drew a staircase 
 with minute care. He made no answer. "Un- 
 less you have a feeling against that money?" 
 she added in a low voice. 
 
 "Why, I don't suppose I should care to profit 
 by it personally," he admitted, his eyes on her 
 bent head, " but as for the sanitorium that is 
 scarcely a money-making project. Abstractly 
 speaking, I don't see why it should not accept 
 any legitimate endowment." 
 
 "Then you will let me go ahead with it?" she 
 asked eagerly. 
 
 He would have no more pretence. He took 
 pencil and paper away from her. 
 
 "That is a wholly different matter. It would 
 use up the greater part of your little fortune. 
 Why should you do that?" 
 
 " Because I I don't quite like that money." 
 
 "It means your freedom." 
 
 "No. It means that I would have gone 
 274
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 with him." A deep flush swept over her face. 
 "I can't bear that thought it scorches me!" 
 
 His hands closed over hers. "My dear, your 
 own world, the world you missed so bitterly, is 
 open to you now. Inevitably, you will want to 
 go back to it." 
 
 "No." Her eyes looked straight into his at 
 last. 
 
 "There is only one way you can stay, dearest." 
 
 "There is only one way I want to stay." 
 
 "You are sure, my girl sure?" 
 
 She drew him closer. "Oh, Caspar, I have 
 been sure for so long!" 
 
 Later, Ann and Ernest, walking together in 
 the garden, passed beneath the window. A 
 little rush of warm laughter from Ann brought a 
 troubled frown to Cassandra's eyes. 
 
 "Ah, I am not sweet and kind, like that. I 
 never shall be you know it, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes, I know it," he said contentedly. "I 
 don't quarrel with an eagle because it isn't a 
 song bird, my girl." 
 
 "She would give you a great deal more sym- 
 pathy about the individual patients," Cassandra 
 went on with a surprising touch of wistful humility. 
 "But, Caspar dear, she couldn't run things for 
 you as I can oh, you know that!" There were 
 actually tears in her eyes. A sudden memory of 
 
 275
 
 OPEN HOUSE 
 
 her as she sat in that very chair her first day, 
 frankly impatient of him and all his works, made 
 him laugh to himself and gather her breathlessly 
 close. 
 
 "Oh, my Cassandra, how the mighty have 
 fallen!" he murmured. 
 
 276
 
 A FEW OF 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP'S 
 Great Books at Little Prices 
 
 NEW, CLEVER, ENTERTAINING. 
 
 GRET : The Story of a Pagan. By Beatrice Mantle. Illustrated 
 
 by C. M. Relyea. 
 
 The wild free life of an Oregon lumber camp furnishes the setting for this 
 strong original story. Gret is the daughter of the camp and is utterly con- 
 tent with the wild life until love comes. A fine book, unmarred by con- 
 vention. 
 
 OLD CHESTER TALES. By Margaret Deland. Illustrated 
 by Howard Pyle. 
 
 A vivid yet delicate portrayal of characters in an old New England town. 
 
 Dr. Lavendar's fine, kindly wisdom is brought to bear upon the lives of 
 all, permeating the whole volume like the pungent odor of pine, healthful 
 and life giving. " Old Chester Tales " will surely be among the books that 
 abide. 
 
 THE MEMOIRS OF A BABY. By Josephine Daskam. Illus- 
 trated by F. Y. Cory. 
 
 The dawning intelligence of the baby was grappled with by its great aunt, 
 an elderly maiden, whose book knowledge ofbapies was something at which 
 even the infant himself winked. A delicious bit of humor. 
 
 REBECCA MARY. By Annie Hamilton Donnell. Illustrated 
 
 by Elizabeth Shippen Green. 
 
 The heart tragedies of this little girl with no one near to share them, are 
 told with a delicate art, a keen appreciation of the needs of the childish 
 heart and a humorous knowledge of the workings of the childish mind. 
 
 THE FLY ON THE WHEEL. By Katherine Cecil Thurston. 
 
 Frontispiece by Harrison Fishet 
 
 An Irish story of real power, perfect f development and showing a true 
 conception of the spirited Hibernian character as displayed in the tragic as 
 well as the tender phases of life. 
 
 THE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S. By George Barr McCutcheon. 
 Illustrated by Harrison Fisher. 
 
 An island in the South Sea is the setting for this entertaining tale, and 
 an all-conquering hero and a beautiful princess figure in a most complicated 
 plot. One of Mr. McCutcheon's best books. 
 
 TOLD BY UNCLE REMUS. By Joel Chandler Harris. Illus- 
 trated by A. B. Frost, J. M. Conde and Frank Verbeck. 
 
 Again Uncle Remus enters the fields of childhood, and leads another 
 little boy to that non-locatable land called " Brer Rabbit's Laughing 
 Place," and again the quaint animals spring into active life and play their 
 parts, for the edification of a small but appreciative audience. 
 
 THE CLIMBER. By E. F. Benson. With frontispiece. 
 
 An unsparing analysis of an ambitious woman's soul a woman who 
 believed that in social supremacy she would find happiness, and who finds 
 instead the utter despair of one who has chosen the things that pass away. 
 
 LYNCH'S DAUGHTER. By Leonard Merrick. Illustrated by 
 
 Geo. Brehra. 
 
 A story of to-day, telling how a rich girl acquires ideals of beautiful and 
 simple living, and of men and love, quite apart from the teachings of her 
 father, " Old Man Lynch ".of.Wall St. True to life, clever in treatment. 
 
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 DRAMATIZED NOVELS 
 
 A Few that are Making Theatrical History 
 
 MARY JANE'S PA. By Norman Way. Illustrated with scenes 
 
 from the play. 
 
 Delightful, irresponsible " Mary Jane's Pa" awakes one morning to find 
 himself famous, and, genius being ill adapted to domestic joys, he wanders 
 from home to work out his own unique destiny. One of the most humorous 
 bits of recent fiction. 
 
 CHERUB DEVINE. By Sewell Ford. 
 
 " Cherub," a good hearted but not over refined young man is brought fa 
 touch with the aristocracy. Of sprightly wit, he is sometimes a merciless 
 analyst, but he proves in the end that manhood counts for more than anci- 
 ent lineage by winning the love of the fairest girl in the flock 
 
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 scenes from the play. 
 
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 from the toils of an adventuress, and change an apparently tragic situation 
 into one of delicious comedy. 
 
 THE CLIMAX. By George C. Jenks. 
 
 With ambition luring her on, a young choir soprano leaves the little village 
 where she was born and the limited audience of St. Jude's to train for the 
 opera in New York. She leaves love behind her and meets love more ardent 
 but not more sincere in her new environment. How she works, how she 
 studies, how she suffers, are vividly portrayed. 
 
 A FOOL THERE WAS. By Porter Emerson Browne. Illus- 
 trated by Edmund Magrath and W. W. Fawcett. 
 A relentless portrayal of the career of a man who C9mes under the influence 
 of a beautiful but evil woman : how she lures him on and on, how he 
 struggles, falls and rises, only to fall again into her net, make a story of 
 unflinching realism 
 
 THE SQUAW MAN. By Julie Opp Faversham and Edwin 
 
 Milton Royle. Illustrated with scenes from the play. 
 A glowing story, rapid in action, bright in dialogue with a fine courageous 
 hero and a beautiful English heroine. 
 
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 with scenes from the play. 
 
 A droll little comedy of misunderstandings, told with a light touch, a ven- 
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 THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL. By Baroness Orczy. Illus- 
 trated with scenes from the play. 
 
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 ous as the hero. 
 
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 Great Books at Little Prices 
 
 CY W V HITTAKER'S PLACE. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 
 Illustrated by Wallace Morgan. 
 
 A Cape Cod story describing the amusing efforts of an el- 
 derly bachelor and his two cronies to rear and educate a little 
 girl. Full of honest fun a rural drama. 
 
 THE FORGE IN THE FOREST. By Charles G. D. 
 
 Roberts. Illustrated by H. Sand.ham. 
 A story of the conflict in Acadia after its conquest by the 
 British. A dramatic picture that lives and shines with the in- 
 definable charm of poetic romance. 
 
 A SISTER TO EVANGELINE. By Charles G. D. 
 Roberts. Illustrated by E. McConnell. 
 
 Being the story of Yvonne de Lamourie, and how she went 
 into exile with the villagers of Grand Pre. Swift action, 
 fresh atmosphere, wholesome purity, deep passion and search- 
 ing analysis characterize this strong novel. 
 THE OPENED SHUTTERS. By Clara Louise Burn- 
 ham. Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher. 
 
 A summer haunt on an island in Casco Bay is the back- 
 ground for this>omance. 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. By Clara Louise Burnham. 
 An amusing story, opening at a fashionable Long Island re- 
 sort, where a stately Englishwoman employs a forcible New 
 England housekeeper to serve in her interesting home. How 
 types so widely apart react on each others' lives, all to ulti- 
 mate good, makes a story both humorous and rich in sentiment. 
 
 THE LEAVEN OF LOVE. By Clara Louise Burn- 
 ham. 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 
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 of the blase woman by this glimpse into a cheery life. 
 
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 QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. A Picture of New 
 England Home Life. With illustrations by C. W. 
 Reed, and Scenes Reproduced from the Play. 
 
 One of the best New England stories ever written. It is 
 full of homely human interest * * * there is a wealth of New 
 England village character, scenes and incidents * * * forcibly, 
 vividly and truthfully drawn. Few books have enjoyed a 
 greater sale and popularity. Dramatized, it made the great- 
 est rural play of recent times. 
 
 THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF QUINCY 
 ADAMS SAWYER. By Charles Felton Pidgin. 
 Illustrated by Henry Roth. 
 
 All who love honest sentiment, quaint and sunny humor, 
 and homespun philosophy will find these " Further Adven- 
 tures" a book after their own heart. 
 
 HALF A CHANCE. By Frederic S. Isham. Illus- 
 trated by Herman Pfeifer. 
 
 The thrill of excitement will keep the reader in a state of 
 suspense, and he will become personally concerned from the 
 start, as to the central character, a very real man who suffers, 
 dares and achieves ! 
 
 VIRGINIA OF THE AIR LANES. By Herbert 
 Quick. Illustrated by William R. Leigh. 
 
 The author has seized the romantic moment for the airship 
 novel, and created the pretty story of " a lover and his lass " 
 contending with an elderly relative for the monopoly of the 
 skies. An exciting tale 01 adventure in midair. 
 
 THE GAME AND THE CANDLE. By Eleanor M. 
 
 Ingram. Illustrated by P. D. Johnson. 
 The hero is a young American, who, to save his family from 
 poverty, deliberately commits a felony. Then follow his cap- 
 ture and imprisonment, and his rescue by a Russian Grand 
 Duke. A stirring story, rich in sentiment. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST. , NEW YORK
 
 A FEW OF 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP'S 
 Great Books at Little Prices 
 
 BRUVVER JIM'S BABY. By Philip Verrill Mighels. 
 
 An uproariously funny story of a tiny mining settlement in the 
 West, which is shaken to the very roots by the sudden possession 
 of a baby, found on the plains by one of its residents. The town is 
 as disreputable a spot as the gold fever was ever responsible for, 
 and the coming of that baby causes the upheaval of every rooted 
 tradition of the place. Its christening, the problems of its toys and 
 its illness supersede in the minds of the miners all thought of earthy 
 treasure. 
 
 THE FURNACE OF GOLD. By Philip Verrill Mighels, 
 author of " Bruvver Jim's Baby." Illustrations by J. N. 
 Marchand. 
 
 An accurate and informing portrayal of scenes, types, and condi- 
 tions of the mining districts in modern Nevada. 
 
 The book is an out-door story, clean, exciting, exemplifying no- 
 bility and courage of character, and bravery, and heroism in the sort 
 of men and women we all admire and wish to know. 
 
 THE MESSAGE. By Louis Tracy. Illustrations by Joseph 
 
 C. Chase. 
 
 A breezy tale of how a bit of old parchment, concealed in a figure- 
 head from a sunken vessel, comes into the possession of a pretty 
 girl and an army man during regatta week in the Isle of Wight. 
 This is the message and it enfolds a mystery, the development of 
 which the reader will follow with breathless interest. 
 
 THE SCARLET EMPIRE. By David M. Parry. Illus- 
 trations by Hermann C. Wall. 
 
 A young socialist, weary of life, plunges into the sea and awakes 
 in the lost island of Atlantis, known as the Scarlet Empire, where 
 a social democracy is in full operation, granting every man a living 
 but limiting food, conversation, education and marriage. 
 
 The hero passes through an enthralling love affair and other ad- 
 ventures but finally returns to his own New York world. 
 
 THE THIRD DEGREE. By Charles Klein and Arthur 
 Hornblqw. Illustrations by Clarence Rowe. 
 
 A novel which exposes the abuses in this country of the police 
 system. 
 
 The son of an aristocratic New York family marries a woman 
 socially beneath him, but of strong, womanly qualities that, later 
 on, save the man from the tragic consequences of a dissipated life. 
 
 The wife believes in his innocence and her wit and good sense 
 help her to win against the tremendous odds imposed by law. 
 
 THE THIRTEENTH DISTRICT. By Brand Whitlock. 
 A realistic western story of love and politics and a searching study 
 of their influence on character. The author shows with extraordi- 
 nary vitality of treatment the tricks, the heat, the passion, the tu- 
 mult of the political arena the triumph and strength of love. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
 
 A FEW OF 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP'S 
 Great Books at Little Prices 
 
 THE MUSIC MASTER. By Charles Klein. Illustrated 
 
 by John Rae. 
 
 This marvelously vivid narrative turns upon the search of a Ger- 
 man musician in JNew York for his little daughter. Mr. Klein has 
 well portrayed his pathetic struggle with poverty, his varied expe- 
 riences in endeavoring to meet the demands of a public not trained 
 to an appreciation of the classic, and his final great hour when, in 
 the rapidly shifting events of a big city, his litde daughter, now a 
 beautifnl young woman, is brought to his very door. A superb bit 
 of fiction, palpitating with the life of the great metropolis. The 
 play in which David Warfi eld scored his highest success. 
 
 DR. LAVENDAR'S PEpPLE. By Margaret Deland. 
 
 Illustrated by Lucius Hitchcock. 
 
 Mrs. Deland won so many friends through Old Chester Tales 
 that this volume needs no introduction beyond its title. The lova- 
 ble doctor is more ripened in this later book, and the simple come- 
 dies and tragedies of the old village are told with dramatic charm. 
 
 OLD CHESTER TALES. By Margaret Deland. Illustrated 
 
 by Howard Pyle. 
 
 Stories portraying with delightful humor and pathos a quaint peo- 
 ple in a sleepy old town. Dr. Lavendar, a very human and lovable 
 "preacher," is the connecting link between these dramatic stories 
 from life. 
 
 HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE. By E. P. Roe. 
 With frontispiece. 
 
 The hero is a farmer a man with honest, sincere views of life. 
 Beieft of his wife, his home is cared for by a succession of domes- 
 tics of varying degrees of inefficiency until, from a most unpromis- 
 ing source, comes a young woman who not only becomes his wife 
 but commands his respect and eventually wins his love. A bright 
 and delicate romance, revealing on both sides a love that surmounts 
 all difficulties and survives the censure of friends as well as the bit- 
 terness of enemies. 
 THE YOKE. By Elizabeth Miller. 
 
 Against the historical background of the days when the children 
 of Israel were delivered from the bondage of Egypt, the author has 
 sketched a romance of compelling charm. A biblical novel as great 
 as any since " Ben Hur." 
 
 SAUL OF TARSUS. By Elizabeth Miller. Illustrated by 
 
 Andre* Castaigne. 
 
 The scenes of this story are laid in Jerusalem, Alexandria, Rome 
 and Damascus. The Apostle Paul, the Martyr Stephen, Herod 
 Agrippa and the Emperors Tiberius and Caligula are among the 
 mighty figures that move through the pages. Wonderful descrip- 
 tions, and a love story of the purest and noblest type mark this 
 most remarkable religious romance. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST. , NEW YORK
 
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