Once upon a time, when he first came to the house, a piano had stood in the drawing-room. His joy at that time knew no bounds; he loved music. For his age he was no mean musician. But one evening his father, coming in unexpectedly, heard the player at the instrument. For a moment he stood transfixed in the doorway watching the eager, almost inspired face of the lad, and then, pale as a ghost, stole away without disturbing him. Strange to say, Frederic was playing a waltz of Ziehrer's, a Waltz that his mother had played when the honeymoon was in the full. The following day the piano was taken away by a storage company. The boy never knew why it was removed. Frederic picked up the morning paper. His eye traversed the front page rapidly. There were reports of fearful weather at sea. Ships in touch with wireless stations flashed news of the riotous gales far out on the Atlantic, of tremendous seas that wreaked damage to the staunchest of vessels. The whole seaboard was strewn with the wreckage of small craft; a score of vessels were known to be ashore and in grave peril. The movement of passenger-vessels, at the bottom of the page, riveted his attention. The _Lusitania_ was reported seven hundred miles out, and in the heart of the hurricane. She would be a day late. The newspaper was slightly crumpled, as if someone else had read it before him. He found himself wondering how he would feel if the _Lusitania_ never reached New York! He wondered what his sensations would be if a call for help came from the great vessel, if the dreadful news came that she was sinking with all on board! He looked up from the paper with what actually seemed to him to be a guilty feeling. Someone had entered the room. Mrs Desmond was coming toward him, a queer little smile on her lips. She was a tall, fair woman, an English type, and still extremely handsome. Hers was an honest beauty that had no fear of age. “She is a staunch ship, Frederic,” she said, without any other form of greeting. “She will be late, but there's really nothing to worry about.” “I'm not worrying,” he said confusedly. “Lydia has told you the--the news?” “Yes.” “Rather staggering, isn't it?” he said with a wry smile. In spite of himself he watched her face with curious intentness. “Rather,” she said briefly. He was silent for a moment. “I was instructed to inform you that he was married last Wednesday,” he said, and his face hardened. “And to have the car meet them at the dock.” “It won't be necessary, Frederic. I have given Jones his instructions. You will not even have to carry out the orders.” “I suppose you don't approve of the way.” “I know just how you feel, poor boy. Don't try to explain. I know.” “You always understand,” he said, lowering his eyes. “Not always,” she said quietly. There was something cryptic in the remark. He kept his eyes averted.