the door, and in a
moment--enter Margaret Mueller into the home of the Nesbits.

As the wide door opens, a glow of light and life falls upon the young
people. Standing in the broad reception room is Doctor Nesbit, with his
finger in a book--a poetry book if you please--and before him with his
arm about her and her head beneath his chin stands his daughter. Coming
down the stairs is Mrs. Bedelia Satterthwaite Nesbit--of the Maryland
Satterthwaites--tall, well-upholstered, with large features and a Roman
nose and with the makings of a double chin, if she ever would deign to
bend her queenly head, and finally with the pomp of a major general in
figure and mien.

She ignores the debris of the carpenters who have been putting in the
hardwood floors, without glancing at it, and walking to her guests,
welcomes them with regal splendor, receiving Miss Mueller with rather
obvious dignity. Mrs. Nesbit in those days was a woman of whom the
doctor said, "There is no foolishness about Bedelia." The jovial Mr.
Brotherton attempts some pleasant hyperbole of speech, which the hostess
ignores and the Doctor greets with a smile. Mrs. Nesbit leads the way to
the piano, being a woman of purpose, and whisks the eldest Miss Morton
upon a stool and has the hymn book opened in less time than it takes to
tell how she did it. The Doctor and Laura stand watching the company,
and perhaps they stand awkwardly; which prompts Mr. Brotherton in the
goodness of his heart to say, "Doctor, won't you sit and hear the
music?"

Mrs. Nesbit looks around, sees the two figures standing near the fire
and replies, "No, the Doctor won't."

To which he chirps a mocking echo--"No, the Doctor won't."

Mr. Brotherton glances at Mr. Fenn, and the Doctor sees it. "That's all
right, boys--that's all right; I may be satrap of Harvey and have the
power of life and death over my subjects, but that's down town. Out
here, I'm the minority report."

Mrs. Nesbit opens the hymn book, smooths the fluttering leaves and says
without looking toward the Doctor: "I suppose we may as well begin now."
And she begins beating the time with her index finger and marking the
accents with her foot.

As they sing they can hear the gentle drone of the Doctor's soft voice
in the intervals in the music, reading in some nearby room to his
daughter. They are reading Tennyson's "Maud" and sometimes in the
emotional passages his voice breaks and his eyes fill up and he cannot
go on. At such