"It was stupid of me; but the
wind--Is this your muff?"
Mrs. Boyer took the muff coldly. From its depths she proceeded to
extract a handkerchief and with the handkerchief she brushed down
the broadcloth. Harmony stood apologetically by. It is
explanatory of Mrs. Boyer's face, attitude, and costume that the
girl addressed her in English.
"I backed in," she explained. "So few people come, and no
Americans."
Mrs. Boyer, having finished her brushing and responded to this
humble apology in her own tongue, condescended to look at
Harmony.
"It really is no matter," she said, still coolly but with
indications of thawing. "I am only glad it did not strike my
nose. I dare say it would have, but I was looking up to see if it
were going to snow." Here she saw the violin case and became
almost affable.
"There was a card in the Doctors' Club, and I called--" She
hesitated.
"I am Miss Wells. The card is mine."
"One of the women here has a small boy who wishes to take violin
lessons and I offered to come. The mother is very busy."
"I see. Will you come in? I can make you a cup of tea and we can
talk about it."
Mrs. Boyer was very willing, although she had doubts about the
tea. She had had no good tea since she had left England, and was
inclined to suspect all of it.
They went in together, Harmony chatting gayly as she ran ahead,
explaining this bit of the old staircase, that walled-up door,
here an ancient bit of furniture not considered worthy of
salvage, there a closed and locked room, home of ghosts and
legends.
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