noiselessly as she had come. Her eyes were full of mysterious meaning
that Rose was powerless to translate.

"I'd enjoy it," Rose said quickly. "I love to pour the coffee and Aunt
Francesca always lets me on the rare occasions when we breakfast
together."

If her colour was a little brighter, if her voice was in a higher key,
if her eyes had changed their expression, Allison did not notice it.
Yet, in the instant, she had attained a certain dual consciousness--
there seemed to be two of her. One was the woman of the world, well-
schooled in self-control, tactful, watchful, ready to smooth any
awkwardness, and, at every point, to guard her guest. The other was
Primitive Woman; questioning, curious, and watchful in the sense of
rivalry. She put it resolutely aside to think about later, and was very
glad that Allison did not know.

She was greatly relieved when he went home, promising to return later
for a few hours of work upon a difficult concerto. "We'll do it again,"
he said, laughing, as he went down the steps. "Ask Aunt Francesca to
give me a meal ticket, to be used solely for breakfasts, will you?"

Rose only smiled in answer, but waved her hand to him as he went out of
the gate. She stood pensively in the hall for a moment or two after she
had closed the door, and would have gone up to her own room had she not
heard a step at the head of the stairs.

Isabel was coming down, also fresh and tailor-made, with a white linen
collar and a dashing crimson tie. Rose strolled into the library, took
up a magazine, sat down, and pretended to read.