, somewhat
unwillingly, Gregory followed her. "It makes me sorry for you. It's as
if a person were to tell you that they'd never before seen the mountains
or the sea. If I'd realised that you'd never met her I could have
arranged that you should. She often comes to me quite quietly and meets
a few friends. She was so devoted to dear father; she called him The
Hammer of the Gods. I have the most wonderful letter that she wrote me
when he died," Miss Scrotton said, lowering her voice to a reverent
pause. "Between ourselves," she went on, "I do sometimes think that our
dear Mrs. Forrester cherishes her a little too closely. I confess that I
love nothing more than to share my good things. I don't mean that dear
Mrs. Forrester doesn't; but I should ask more people, frequently and
definitely, to meet Mercedes, if I were in her place."

"But if Madame Okraska won't come down and see them?" Gregory inquired.

"Ah, but she will; she will," Miss Scrotton said earnestly; "if it is
thought out; arranged for carefully. She doesn't, naturally, care to
come down on chance, like to-day. She does want to know whom she's to
meet if she makes the effort. She knows of course that Sir Alliston and
I are here, and that may bring her; I do hope so for your sake; but of
course if she does not come I go up to her. With Mrs. Forrester I am, I
think, her nearest friend in England. She has stayed with me in the
country;--my tiny flat here would hardly accommodate her. I am going,
did you know it, to America with her next week."

"No; really; for a tour?"

"Yes; through the States. We shall be gone till next summer. I know
several very charming people in New York and Boston and can help to make
it pleasant for Mercedes. Of course for me it is the opportunity of a
life-time. Quite apart from her music, she is the most remarkable woman
I have ever known."

"She's clever?"

"Clever is too trivial a word. Her genius goes through everything. We
read a great deal together--Dante, Goethe, French essayists, our English
poets. To hear her read poetry is almost as wonderful an experience as
to hear her play. Isn't it an extraordinary face? One sees it all in her
face, I think."

"She is very unusual looking."

"Her face," Miss Scrotton pursued, ignoring her companion's trite
comments, "embodies the thoughts and dreams of many races. It makes me
always think of Pater's Mona Lisa--you remember: 'Hers is the head upon
which all the ends of the world a