he doffed his hat and returned their afternoon greeting, while he
pursued his quest with lively interest and attention. Market Street was
reached, and here he was obliged to pause near a shop window lest he
might overtake Anderson, who had halted to exchange pleasantries with a
young and attractive couple. On they went again deliberately and
persistently until at length it began to dawn upon Stephen that they
were headed for the Germantown road, and for Allison's house.

What strange relation was arising between Marjorie and that man?
Anderson was paying marked attention to her, he began to muse to
himself, too much attention perhaps, for one whose whole existence was
clouded with a veil of mystery. Undoubtedly he was meeting with some
encouragement, if not reciprocation (perish the thought!), for he was
persistent in his attention. Yet this man was not without charm. There
was something fascinating about him which even Stephen must confess was
compelling. What if she had been captivated by him, by his engaging
personal qualities, by his prepossessing appearance, by his habit of
gentle speech, by his dignity and his ease of manner! His irritation was
justifiable.

There was little doubt now as to Anderson's destination. Plainly he was
bent on one purpose. The more he walked, the more evident this became.
Stephen would be assured, however, and pursued his way until he had seen
with his own eyes his man turn into Allison's house. And not until then
did he halt. Turning deliberately he began to retrace his steps.

II

"This looks like the kind of book. Has it the 'Largo'?"

Anderson sat on the music-stool before the clavichord turning over the
pages of a volume that rested on the rack.

"Perhaps. I scarce think I know what it is. I have never heard it."

Marjorie was nearby. She had been musing over the keys, letting her
fingers wander where they would, when he had called. He would not
disturb her for all the world, nevertheless he did yield to her
entreaties to take her place on the stool.

"You have never heard Handel? The 'Largo' or the greatest of all
oratorios, his 'Messiah'?"

"Never!"

He did not reply to this. Instead he broke into the opening chords, the
sweetly solemn, majestic harmony of the 'Largo'. He played it entirely
from memory, very slowly, very softly at first, until the measured
notes, swelling into volume, filled the room in a loud arpeggio.

"That is beautiful," she exclaimed with enth