comment, and Fräulein Fredrika was in the corner, silent, too, and yet overcome with admiration.

“That boy,” said the Doctor, at length, “he has genius.”

The crescent moon gleamed faintly against the sunset, and a wayworn robin, with slow-beating wings, circled toward his nest in one of the maples on the other side of the valley. The fragrant dusk sheltered the little house, which all day had borne the heat of the sun.

“Possibly,” said the Master, “but no heart, no feeling. He is all technique.”

There was another long pause. “His [Pg 103]mother,” observed the Doctor, “do you know her?”

[Pg 103]

“No. I meet no women but mine sister.”

“She is a lovely lady.”

“So?”

It was evident that the Master had no interest in Margaret Irving, but the Doctor still brooded upon the vision. She was different from anyone else in East Lancaster, and he admired her very much.

“That boy,” said the Doctor, again, “he has her eyes.”

“Whose?”

“His mother’s.”

“So?”

The interval lengthened into an hour, and presently the kitchen clock struck ten. “I shall go now,” remarked the Doctor, rising.

“Not yet,” said the Master. “Come!”

They went downstairs together, into the shop. It had happened before, though rarely, and the Doctor suspected that he was about to receive the greatest possible kindness from his friend’s hands. Herr Kaufmann disappeared into his bedroom and was gone a long time.

The room was dark, and the Doctor did not [Pg 104]dare to move for fear of stepping upon some of the wood destined for violins. 

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