Among the songs--words and music--which her mother had left in manuscript, was one which she had learned recently,--"Blue Eyes"--and she played the air now, seated there all alone in the subdued lamp light.
Presently people began to appear from above--Mrs. Barres, who motioned her not to rise, and who seated herself near, watching the girl's slender fingers moving on the keys; then Lee, who came and stood beside her, followed in a few moments by Thessalie and the two younger men.
"What is that lovely little air you are playing?" inquired Mrs. Barres.
"It is called 'Blue Eyes,'" said Dulcie, absently.
"It is really exquisite," said Mrs. Barres. "Are there words to it?"
Some people had come into the entrance hall beyond; there was the low whirring of an automobile outside.
"Yes, my mother made some verses for it," replied Dulcie.
"Will you sing them for me after dinner?"
Mrs. Barres turned to welcome her new guests, now entering the music room convoyed by Barres senior, who was arrayed in the dreaded "stiff shirt" and already indulging in "table talk."
"They took," he was explaining, "a midge-fly with no hackle--Claire, here are the Gerhardts and Mr. Skeel!" And while his wife welcomed them and introductions were effected, he continued explaining the construction of the midge to anybody who listened.
At the first mention of Murtagh Skeel's name, the glances of Westmore, Garry and Thessalie crossed like lightning, then their attention became riveted on this tall, graceful, romantic looking man of early middle age, who was being lionised at Northbrook.
The next moment Garry stepped back beside Dulcie Soane, who had turned white as a flower and was gazing at Skeel as though she had seen a ghost.
"Do you suppose he can be the same man your mother knew?" he whispered, dropping his arm and taking her trembling hand in a firm clasp.
"I don't know.... I seem to feel so.... I can't explain to you how it pierced my heart--the sound of his name.... Oh, Garry!--suppose it is true--that he is the man my mother knew--and cared for!"
Before he could speak, cocktails were served, and Adolf Gerhardt, a large, bearded, pompous man, engaged him in explosive conversation:
"Yes, this fellow Corot Mandel is producing a new spectacle-play on my lawn to-morrow evening. Your family and your guests are invited, of course. And for the dance, also----" He included Dulcie in a pompous bow, finished his cocktail with another flourish: