the music from the garden. He gave his coat and hat to a servant and, advancing through the people, who seemed, some of them, at least, to prefer the house, he sought his host. He heard some woman whose voice was not as low as she supposed ask, "Who is that black-haired man who looks like a Jew?" but he was used to that, and reaching Mr. Bagehot at this moment he shook hands with him.
His host glanced into the young man's face and could not help feeling inwardly discouraged. "She won't come out to this muddy-skinned, hook-nosed fellow," he thought; "she will set him down hard and talk to someone else. However, it can't be helped; it is his own idea," and he looked round for his daughter.
"She's over there, I think," he said, "on the steps leading to the garden; let us go and find her at once."
"By all means," responded Hilliard, and he followed his host until they stopped at the top of the marble steps; a group of people stood laughing and talking there.
"I have asked her to be nice to you," whispered his host nervously. "I told her a confounded lie, and said I knew your family and that you—er—needed friends and acquaintances."
The young man broke into a sudden, hearty laugh. It was a contagious, pleasant sound, and Mr. Bagehot found himself joining with a chuckle. "It's terrible what we will do," he added, and advanced to the young people in front of them.
"Irene," he said, speaking with nervous pomposity, "here is Dr. Hilliard, whom I want you to know. Dr. Hilliard, my daughter."
A little, slender creature disentangled herself from the others and, stepping into the light from the library door, held out her hand.
"How do you do?" she said. "Papa has told me of you and says you want to be amused, so it's very nice of us to be giving a party for you, isn't it? Shall we come inside for a while and see what we look like? and then I'll show you the garden if you like."
They turned together, and she led him to a seat in one of the rooms where a few people strayed about, but there was less noise and distraction; then, seating herself near him, she looked him over with a cool, uninterested scrutiny.
She looked as her father had said, as though a strong wind might blow her away. It was hard to believe she had ever been round and plump, harder still to imagine that little, tired face warm with color. Her eyes had been fair-sized to begin with, a deep blue-gray, but now they stared out on the world, large and bored and rather hard in expression.
"Why are you to be amused?" she began, "I couldn't quite make out, and I was in a hurry dressing, some people had come. Is it just because papa has taken a fancy to you, or what?"
