At last she played Liszt’s brilliant Hungarian Rhapsody, her slender hands taking the tremendous chords and octave runs with a precision and rapidity that seemed inspired.  The final crash came in a shower of liquid jewels of sound, and then she turned to look at him, her one friend in that company of strangers.

He could see that she had been playing under a heavy strain.  Her face looked weary and flushed, and her eyes were brilliant with feverish excitement.  Those eyes seemed to be pleading with him now to set her free from the kindly scrutiny of these good-hearted, curious strangers.  They gathered about her in delight, pouring their questions and praises upon her.

“Where did you study?  With some great master, I am sure.  Tell us all about yourself.  We are dying to know, and will sit at your feet with great delight while you discourse.”

Tryon Dunham interrupted these disquieting questions, by drawing his watch from his pocket with apparent hasty remembrance, and giving a well feigned exclamation of dismay.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bowman; it is too bad to interrupt this delightful evening,” he apologized; “but I’m afraid if Miss Remington feels that she must take the next train, we shall have to make all possible speed.  Miss Remington, can you get your wraps on in three minutes?  Our carriage is probably at the door now.”

With a look of relief, yet keeping up her part of dismay over the lateness of the hour, the girl sprang to her feet, and hurried away to get her wraps, in spite of her protesting hostess.  Mrs. Bowman was held at bay with sweet expressions of gratitude for the pleasant entertainment.  The great black picture hat was settled becomingly on the small head, the black cloak thrown over her gown, and the gloves fitted on hurriedly to hide the fact that they were too large.

“And whom did you say you studied with?” asked the keen hostess, determined to be able to tell how great a guest she had harbored for the evening.

“Oh, is Mr. Dunham calling me, Mrs. Bowman?  You will excuse me for hurrying off, won’t you?  And it has been so lovely of you to ask me—­perfectly delightful to find friends this way when I was a stranger.”

She hurried toward the stairway and down the broad steps, and the hostess had no choice but to follow her.

The other guests crowded out into the hall to bid them good-by and to tell the girl how much they had enjoyed the music.  Mrs. Blackwell insisted upon kissing the smooth cheek of the young musician, and whispered in her ear:  “You play very nicely, my dear.  I should like to hear you again some time.”  The kindness in her tone almost brought a rush of tears to the eyes of the weary, anxious girl.

[Illustration]

III

Dunham hurried her off amid the goodbyes of the company, and in a moment more they were shut into the semi-darkness of the four-wheeler and whirled from the too hospitable door.