re
the full scarlet lips drooped a little from sadness. Star-like, her
brown eyes searched the far shadows and sometimes the flicker of the
candle brought a dancing glint of gold into their depths. And as always,
like a halo, stray gleams hovered about her head, bent slightly forward
now and full into the light, throwing into faint relief the short
straight nose, and the full, short upper lip.

[Sidenote: Edith at the Piano]

Smiling, and wholly unconscious, it was as though she pleaded with the
instrument to give her back some half-forgotten melody. Presently the
strings answered, shyly at first, then in full soft chords that sang and
crooned through the dusk. Alden, in his remote corner, drew a long
breath of rapture. The ineffable sweetness of her pervaded his house,
not alone with the scent of violets, but with the finer, more subtle
fragrance of her personality.

She wore no jewels, except her wedding ring--not even the big, blazing
diamond with which her husband had sealed their betrothal. She had a
string of pearls and a quaint, oriental necklace set with jade, and
sometimes she wore one or two turquoises, or a great, pale sapphire set
in silver, but that was all. Out of the world of glitter and sparkle,
she had chosen these few things that suited her, and was content.

[Sidenote: Madame in the Moonlight]

From another corner came the sound of slow, deep breathing. Outside the
circle of candlelight, Madame had fallen asleep in her chair. The full
June moon had shadowed the net curtain upon the polished floor and laid
upon it, in silhouette, an arabesque of oak leaves. It touched Madame's
silvered hair to almost unearthly beauty as she leaned back with her
eyes closed, and brought a memory of violets and sun from the
gold-tasselled amethyst that hung on her breast. The small slender hands
lay quietly, one on either arm of her chair. A white crepe shawl, heavy
with Chinese embroidery, lay over her shoulders,--a gift from Edith. A
Summer wind, like a playful child, stole into the room, lifted the deep
silk fringe of the shawl, made merry with it for a moment, then tinkled
the prisms on the chandelier and ran away again.

The fairy-like sound of it, as though it were a far, sweet bell, chimed
in with Edith's dreamy chords and brought her to herself with a start.
She turned quickly, saw that Madame was asleep, and stopped playing.

"Go on," said Alden, in a low tone. "Please do."

"I mustn't," she whispered,