time. After that, he
came down to Mr. Drayton and talked to him. I didn't see him speak to
anybody else, though."

"Oh," Hubert said suddenly; "I know the man you mean, Allyn. There is a
good deal of him, too. Sam Asquith told me he had just come to the hotel.
He is a composer and hails from New York."

"What is his name?" Theodora asked rather indifferently.

"Gifford Barrett."

"Oh!" There was a clatter, as Cicely dropped her knife and fork and
clasped her hands in ecstasy. "Really?"

"Is it so painful as all that, Cis?" Allyn inquired.

"Pain! It's utter rapture. I've always felt that, if I could just once
look at Gifford Barrett, I could die happy. Do you know who he is, you
ignorant ones?"

The others owned up to their mental darkness; but Theodora said
vaguely,--

"Seems to me I met him once. The name is half-way familiar."

Cicely groaned.

"Half-way familiar! I should rather say it was."

"Who is he, anyway?" Allyn demanded.

"Who? Why, he wrote the _Alan Breck Overture_."

"What's that?"

"Allyn! When I have played it on an average of twice a day, ever since I
came here! Haven't you any ears?"

"Not for your kind of music," Allyn returned bluntly. "I want a little
tune in mine."

"Who is the man?" Billy asked. "Is he really of any account, Cis?"

"I should think he was. Mr. Paulson, my teacher in New York, said he is
the greatest American composer," she returned triumphantly.

"A genuine lion, not a duke," Hubert observed. "But I thought composers
always wore their hair in flowing ringlets, Cicely. This man is too well
groomed to be really inspired."

Theodora laughed suddenly.

"Hu, you remind me of Mrs. Benson. The day after I came, she asked me
whether Miss Greenway didn't write books; she thought all people who
wrote books were generally a little untidy."

"Did you enlighten her?"

"I couldn't, for I had just ripped my jacket sleeve open for more than
two inches. 'Twas made with one of those insidious one-thread machines,
and I tried to pull out a loose stitch. Since then, she has avoided the
subject of Miss Greenway, and I have spent a good share of my energy in
mending the more visible portions of my attire. I didn't know before that
the eyes of the world were upon us, as upon a peculiar people."

But Cicely had returned to the charge.

"Cousin Hubert, how long is he going to be here?"

"I'm sure I don't know."

"Who is he here to see?"

"Nobody, apparently, unless hi