More and more, Mr. Drew reflected, looking down at her, she reminded him of flower-brimmed, inaccessible mountain-slopes. He must discover some method of ascent; for the music brought her no nearer; he was aware, indeed, that it removed her. She quite forgot him as she played. The last bars had been reached when the door opened suddenly and Madame von Marwitz appeared. She had come in haste--that was evident--and a mingled fatigue and excitement was on her face. Her white cheeks had soft, sodden depressions and under her eyes were little pinches in the skin, as though hot fingers had nipped her there. She looked almost old, and she smiled a determined, adjusted smile, with heavy eyes. "_Tiens, tiens_," she said, and, turning elaborately, she shut the door. Karen finished her bars and rose. "This is a new departure," said Madame von Marwitz. She came swiftly to them, her loose lace sleeves flowing back from her bare arms. "I do not like my piano touched, you know, Karen, unless permission is given. No matter, no matter, my child. Let it not occur again, that is all. You have not found the right balance of that phrase," she stooped and reiterated with emphasis a fragment of the prelude. "And now I will begin my work, if you please. Tallie waits for you, I think, in the garden, and would be glad of your help. Tallie grows old. It does not do to forget her." "Am I to go into the garden, too?" Mr. Drew inquired, as Madame von Marwitz seated herself and ran her fingers over the keys. "I thought we were to motor this morning." "We will motor when I have done my work. Go into the garden, by all means, if you wish to." "May I come into the garden with you? May I help you there?" Mr. Drew serenely drawled, addressing Karen, who, with a curious, concentrated look, stood gazing at her guardian. She turned her eyes on him and her glance put him far, far away, like an object scarcely perceived. "I am not going into the garden," she said. "Mrs. Talcott is working in the morning-room and does not need me yet." "Ah. She is in the morning-room," Madame von Marwitz murmured, still not raising her eyes, and still running loud and soft scales up and down. Karen left the room. As the door closed upon her, Madame von Marwitz, with a singular effect of control, began to weave a spider's-web of intricate, nearly impalpable, sound. "Go, if you please," she said to Mr. Drew. He stood beside her, placid. "Why are you angry?" he asked. "I am not pleased that my rules should be broken. Karen has many privileges. She must learn not to take, always, the extra inch when the ell is so gladly granted." He leaned on the piano. Her controlled face, bent with absorption above the lacey pattern of sound that she evoked, interested him.