Mrs. Robert Gray, who had been listening with an intent expression in eyes whose beauty was not more appealing than their power of observation was keen, now spoke, and all turned to her.  She was a woman whose opinion on any subject of common interest was always waited for and attended upon.  Her voice was rich and low—­her family did not fully know how dear to their ears was the sound of that voice.

“Young Mr. Kendrick,” said she, “couldn’t wish, Ruth, for a more powerful advocate than you.  To have you approve him, after seeing him under more intimate circumstances than we are likely to do, must commend him to our good will.  To tell the frank truth, I have been rather afraid to admit him to my good graces, lest there be really no great force of character, or even promise of it, behind that handsome face and winning manner.  But if you see the signs—­as you say—­we must look more hopefully upon him.”

“She’s not the only one who sees signs,” asserted Judge Gray.  “He’s coming on—­he’s coming on well, in his work with me.  He’s learning really to work.  I admit he didn’t know how when he came to me.  Something has waked him up.  I’m inclined to think,” he went on, with a mischievous glance toward the end of the room where sat the noiseless musicians, “it might have been my niece Roberta’s shining example of industry when she spent a day with us in my library, typing work for me back in October.  Never was such a sight to serve as an inspiration for a laggardly young man!”

There was a general laugh, and all eyes were turned toward that end of the room devoted to the users of the musical instruments.  In response came a deep, resonant note from Roberta’s ’cello, over which the silent bow had been for some time suspended.  There followed a minor scale, descending well into the depths and vibrating dismally as it went.  Louis, a mocking light in his eye, strolled down the room to his sisters.

“That’s the way you feel about it, eh?” he queried, regarding Roberta with brotherly interest.  “Consigning the poor, innocent chap to the bottom of the ladder, when he’s doing his best to climb up to the sunshine of your smile.  Have you no respect for the opinion of your betters?”

“Get out your fiddle and play the Grieg Danse Caprice, with us,” was her reply, and Louis obeyed, though not without a word or two more in her ear which made her lift her bow threateningly.  Presently the trio were off, playing with a spirit and dash which drew all ears, and at the close of the Danse hearty applause called for more.  After this diversion, naturally enough, new subjects came up for discussion.

Returning to the living-room in search of a dropped letter, after the family had dispersed for the night, Roberta found her mother lingering there alone.  She had drawn a low chair close to the fire, and, having extinguished all other lights, was sitting quietly looking into the still glowing embers.  Roberta, forgetting her quest, came close, and flinging a cushion at her mother’s knee dropped down there.  This was a frequent happening, and the most intimate hours the two spent together were after this fashion.