VIII

AND GIVE A SIMPLE LECTURE

In the doorway below she paused a moment, a little startled at the
scene. The bowed heads, the bit of folded tissue, the laughing, eager
tones, the look in Miss Stone's face held her. She swept aside the
drapery and entered--the stately lady of the house.

The bowed heads were lifted. The child sprang to her feet. "Mother-dear!
It is my friend! He has come!" The words sang.

Mrs. Philip Harris held out a gracious hand. She had not intended to
offer her hand. She had intended to be distant and kind. But when the
man looked up she somehow forgot. She held out the hand with a quick
smile.

The Greek was on his feet, bending above it. "It is an honour,
madame--that you come."

"I have come to ask a favour," she replied, slowly, her eyes travelling
over the well-brushed clothes, the clean linen, the slender feet of the
man. Favour was not what she had meant to say--privilege was nearer it.
But there was something about him. Her voice grew suave to match the
words.

"My daughter has told me of you--" Her hand rested lightly on the
child's curls--a safe, unrumpled touch. "Her visit to you has enchanted
her. She speaks of it every day, of the Parthenon and what you told
her."