He tried to see it from the viewpoint of an outsider,
and found himself incredulous and doubting. McLean would resent
the situation. Even the Portier was a person to reckon with. The
skepticism of the American colony was a thing to fear and avoid.
And over all hung the incessant worry about money; he could just
manage alone. He could not, by any method he knew of, stretch his
resources to cover a separate arrangement for himself. But he had
undertaken to shield a girl-woman and a child, and shield them he
would and could.
Brave thoughts were Peter's that snowy morning in the great salon
of Maria Theresa, with the cat of the Portier purring before the
fire; brave thoughts, cool reason, with Harmony practicing scales
very softly while Jimmy slept, and with Anna speeding through a
white world, to the accompaniment of bitter meditation.
Peter had meant to go to Semmering that day, but even the urgency
of Marie's need faded before his own situation. He wired Stewart
that he would come as soon as he could, and immediately after
lunch departed for the club, Anna's list in his pocket, Harmony's
requirements in mind. He paused at Jimmy's door on his way out.
"What shall it be to-day?" he inquired. "A postcard or a crayon?"
"I wish I could have a dog."
"We'll have a dog when you are better and can take him walking.
Wait until spring, son."
"Some more mice?"
"You will have them--but not to-day.
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