on of his tone that Mrs. Stornaway did not recover
herself and was still staring after him in a bewildered fashion when he
went upstairs.

"But it's just like him," she remarked, rather weakly to the room's
emptiness. "That's always the way with people of genius and--and--_mind_.
They're always humble."

CHAPTER XIV

She had renewed opportunity for remarking upon the generous humility the
next morning when he left the house with the intention of paying his
visit to Bank Street.

"He's actually going," she said. "Well, I must say again it's just like
him. There are very few men in his position who would think it worth
while, but he treats everybody with just as much consideration as if--as
if he was nobody."

The house on Bank Street was just what he had expected to find it--small,
unornamental, painted white, and modestly putting forth a few vines as if
with a desire to clothe itself, which had not been encouraged by Nature.
The vines had not flourished and they, as well as the few flowers in the
yard, were dropping their scant foliage, which turned brown and rustled
in the autumn wind.

Before ringing the bell, Baird stood for a few moments upon the
threshold. As he looked up and down the street, he was pale and felt
chilly, so chilly that he buttoned his light overcoat over his breast and
his hands even shook slightly as he did it. Then he turned and rang the
bell.

It was answered by a little woman with a girlish figure and gray hair.
For a moment John Baird paused before speaking to her, as he had paused
before ringing the bell, and in the pause, during which he found himself
looking into her soft, childishly blue eyes, he felt even chillier than
at first.

"Mrs. Latimer. I think," he said, baring his head.

"Yes," she answered, "and you are Mr. Baird and have come to see Lucien,
I'm sure."

She gave him her small hand with a smile.

"I am very glad to see you," she said, "and Lucien will be glad, too.
Come in, please."

She led the way into the little parlour, talking in a voice as soft and
kindly as her eyes. Lucien had been out, but had just come in, she
fancied, and was probably upstairs. She would go and tell him.

So, having taken him into the room, she went, leaving him alone. When she
was gone, Baird stood for a moment listening to her footsteps upon the
stairs. Then he crossed the room and stood before the hearth looking up
at a picture which hung over the mantel.