We are skilled in the _use_ of
words--honest, straight talk--not their dissection. I want to get at
something that we can all enjoy. Tune this violin and come and play some
of those lovely old things that you and Gladys used to practise
together."
"Yes, yes, indeed," exclaimed Mrs. Briscoe cordially, and, rising
promptly, she approached the piano.
Briscoe also started toward the instrument, to open it for her. "Mrs.
Royston and I will be a generous audience and applaud enthusiastically.
But stop--what is that?"
He suddenly paused, the lid of the piano half lifted in his hands, the
scattered sheet music falling in a rustling shower to the floor.
"What _is_ that?" he reiterated, motionless and hearkening.
II.
A voice was calling from out the rising mists, calling again and again,
hailing the house. Briscoe dropped the lid of the piano and strode to the
door, followed by Bayne, the ladies standing irresolute on the hearthrug
and gazing apprehensively after them.
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