Hush-sh-sh!" said Adrian, intent upon his manuscript, waving an
admonitory hand.

"It's time to dress," said Anthony. He lighted a cigarette.

Adrian strummed through his phrase again, brows knitted, looking
intensely judicial. Then he swung round on his piano-stool.

"Hey? What did you say?" he questioned, his blue eyes vague, his pink
face blank.

"I merely asked whether you were n't going for a holiday this summer,"
Anthony repeated, between two outputs of smoke.

"And you interrupt a heaven-sent musician, when you see the fit's upon
him, merely to ask an irrelevant thing like that," Adrian reproved him.
"I was holding an assize, a gaol-delivery. That phrase was on trial
before me for its life. In art, sir, one should imitate the methods of
a hanging judge. Put every separate touch on trial for its life, and
deem it guilty till it can prove itself innocent. Yea, even though
these same touches be dear to you as her children to a mother. Such is
the high austerity of art. I thought you said it was time to dress."

"So it is," said Anthony. "Are n't you going for a holiday this
summer?"

Adrian closed his music-book, and got up.

"Of course I am," he answered.

"When?" said Anthony.

"In September, as usual," said Adrian.

"I was wondering," said Anthony, twiddling his cigarette, "whether you
would mind taking your holiday a little earlier than usual this
year--in August, for instance?"

"Why?" asked Adrian, with caution.

"It would suit me better, I could spare you better," Anthony said.

Adrian eyed him suspiciously.

"In August? We 're in August now, are n't we?"

"I believe so," said Anthony. "Either August or late July. One could
find out from the almanac, I suppose. It would suit me very well if
you could take your holiday now--at once."

Adrian's suspicion became acute.

"What are you up to? What do you want to get rid of _me_ for?"

Anthony smoked.

"I don't want to get rid of you. On the contrary--I 'll go with you,
if you like."

Adrian scrutinized him searchingly, suspicion reinforced by
astonishment. All at once his eyes flashed.

"Aha!" he cried. "I see what you 've been at. You 've been trying to
philander with the Nobil Donna Susanna Torrebianca--and she 's sent you
about your business. Oh, _I 've_ seen how things were going." He
winked and nodded.

"Nothing of the sort," said Anthony. "You might tell Wickersmith to
pack our things. We 'll take the eig