"I say, that's ripping!" cried Hawksley. "Give me your man, and I'll be

off your hands within a week. The sooner you stop fussing over me the

sooner the crack in my head will cease to bother me.

"Kuroki will cook for you and Ryan will put you through the necessary

stunts. The roof, when the weather permits, makes a good exercising

ground. If you'll excuse me I'll do some telephoning. Kuroki, pack my

bag for a five-day trip to Washington. I'll take you down to the office,

Kitty."

"I don't fancy I ever will quite understand you," said Hawksley, leaning

back in his chair, listlessly. "Honestly, now, you'd be perfectly

justified in bundling me off to some hotel. I have funds. Why all this

pother about me?"

Cutty smiled. "When I tackle anything I like to carry it through. I want

to put you on your train."

"To be reasonably sure that I shan't come back?"

"Precisely"--but without smiling. With a vague yet inclusive nod Cutty

hurried off.

"It is because he is such a thorough sportsman. Mr. Hawksley," Kitty

explained. "Having accepted certain obligations he cannot abrogate them

off hand."

"Did I bother you last night? I mean, did my fiddling?"

"Mercy, no! From the hurdy-gurdy of my childhood, down to Kubelik

and his successors, I have been more or less music-mad. You

play--wonderfully!" Sudden, inexplicable shyness.

Hawksley smiled. An hour or two with that old Amati.

"I am only an unconventional amateur. You should hear Stefani Gregor

when the mood is on. He puts something into your soul that makes you

wish to go forth at once to do some fine, unselfish act."

Stefani Gregor! He thought of the clear white soul of the man who had

surrendered imperishable fame to stand between him and the curse of his

blood; who had for ten years stood between his mother and the dissolute

man whom irony had selected for the part of father. Ten years of

diplomacy, tact, patience. Stefani Gregor! There was the blood,

predatory and untamed; and there was the spirit which the old musician

had moulded. He could not harm this girl. Dead or alive, Stefani Gregor

would not permit it.

Hawksley rose slowly and without further speech walked to the corridor

door. He leaned against the jamb for a moment, then went on to his

bedroom.

"I'm afraid that breakfast was too much for him," the nurse ventured.

"An odd young man."

"Very," replied Kitty, rather absently. She was trying to analyze that

flash of shyness.




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