And then Gentian rose to her feet, and put one slim hand on Mrs. Wharnecliffe's arm. "Let us leave them," she said; "will you come this way?" CHAPTER II THE YOUNG GUEST SHE led her into the back room which, to Mrs. Wharnecliffe's surprise, was as dainty and pretty a room as the other was dingy. The bed in the corner was covered with a striped silk rug, and great blue satin cushions were piled upon it. A piano was in a corner of the room, and open music was on it. Pretty watercolour sketches were pinned upon the walls, a Persian rug was underfoot, and flowers seemed to be everywhere. "Yes, this is my room, where I live," said Gentian. Her tones were soft now; she placed Mrs. Wharnecliffe in an easy chair; then took a stool near her, and looked up at her with a pathetic smile. "Now I can talk. That grim-faced man with his critical eyes is away. You are a stranger, but you have a heart. I see it in your eyes. What is it you want me to do? I cannot and will not accept charity from strangers. Anything but that I will do my best to comply with. You see, do you not, that I must earn money, and earn it quickly before we come to starvation?" Mrs. Wharnecliffe's eyes strayed to the piano. "You love music?" she asked. Gentian's blue eyes almost flashed fire. "I adore it! I have wept cauldrons because I cannot sing; but at the convent school I played the big organ in the chapel, and was at peace." "And what else can you do?" "Drive cars." Mischief lurked in the blue eyes again. "Yes, dear, but that would be a perilous and uncertain occupation, whereas music has many delightful possibilities. Will you play to me?" "Oh, I don't know that I'm in the mood for music now." But she moved across to the piano, for a moment gazing into space, then dropping her fingers upon the keys, began playing. Her music was so soft, so weird, so unutterably sad, that after listening for nearly ten minutes, Mrs. Wharnecliffe begged her to stop. "You will make me so depressed that you will soon reduce me to tears. What a strange child you are." Gentian twisted herself round on the music-stool, and faced her visitor with grave, earnest eyes. "Well, I ought to be sad," she said; "I am alone in a strange country without a relation in the world—and my only friend goes to beg from strangers for me, and they come to try to darken the only gleam of light in my horizon. Not a cheerful outlook is it?" "But what is your gleam of light?" asked Mrs. Wharnecliffe, puzzled at this girl's quick change of mood. "Raking in pound notes by the score from driving my taxi!" replied Gentian with a laugh so sunny and infectious that Mrs. Wharnecliffe smiled. "You have a wonderful gift for music," she said; "you show it in your touch."