"Thank you, dear, ever so much for your delightful dinner," she exclaimed,
"and for bringing me home. As for the music, well, I can't talk about it.
I am just going upstairs into my room to sit and think."

"Don't sit up too late and spoil your pretty colour, dear," Mrs. Delarey
advised. "Good-bye! Don't forget I am coming in to lunch with you
to-morrow."

The car rolled off. Ella, a large umbrella held over her head by the
door-keeper, stepped up the little strip of drugget which led into the
softly-warmed hall of the Leeland. Behind her came her maid, Lenora, and
Macdougal, who had been riding on the box with the chauffeur. He paused
for a moment to wipe the snow from his clothes as Ella crossed the hall to
the lift. Lenora turned towards him. He whispered something in her ear.
For a moment she shook. Then she turned away and followed her mistress
upstairs.

Arrived in her apartment, Ella threw herself with a little sigh of content
into a big easy-chair before the fire. Her sitting-room was the last word
in comfort and luxury. A great bowl of pink roses, arrived during her
absence, stood on the small table by her side. Lenora had just brought her
chocolate and was busy making preparations in the bedroom adjoining. Ella
gave herself up for a few moments to reverie. The magic of the music was
still in her blood. She had made progress. That very afternoon her master,
Van Haydn, had spoken to her of her progress--Van Haydn, who had never
flattered a pupil in his life. In a few weeks' time her mother and father
were coming out to her. Meanwhile, she had made hosts of pleasant friends.
Attentions of all sorts had been showered upon her. She curled herself up
in her chair. It was good to be alive!