old-world grandeur. Already it was giving her more than she would find
inside in its text-books. Peculiarly susceptible to surroundings, she
unconsciously held herself more erect, as if such a stately habitation
demanded it of her. And when she climbed the steps again, with it
looming up before her in the red afterglow, the dignity and repose of
its lines, from its massive portal to its highest turret, awakened a
response in her beauty-loving little soul that thrilled her like music.

She went softly through the great door and up the stair-case, pausing
for a moment on the landing to look at the coat-of-arms in the stained
glass window. It was a copy of the window in the old ancestral castle in
England, that belonged to Madam Chartley's family. Mary already knew the
story of its traditional founder, the first Edryn who had won his
knighthood in valiant deeds for King Arthur. In the dim light the
coat-of-arms gleamed like jewels in an amber setting, and the heart in
the crest, the heart out of which rose a mailed hand grasping a spear,
was like a great ruby.

"I keep the tryste," whispered Mary, reading the motto of the scroll
underneath. "No wonder Madam Chartley grew up to be so patrician.
Anybody might with a window like that in the house."

Some one began striking loud full chords on a piano in one of the rooms
below; some one with a strong masterful touch. Mary was sure it was a
man. By leaning over the banister until she almost lost her balance, she
caught a glimpse of a pair of black coat-tails swinging awkwardly over a
piano bench. Herr Vogelbaum, the musical director, must have arrived.
Probably she would meet him at dinner. That was something to look
forward to--an artist who had played before crowned heads and had been
lionized all over Germany. And then the chords rolled into something so