Hilarie watched her two guests. The taller, Humphrey, had the manners of society; he seemed to be what the world, justly jealous, allows to be a gentleman. Yet he had a certain coldness of manner, and he accepted the beauty of this ancient place without surprise or enthusiasm. "What are you by profession, Cousin Humphrey?" she asked. "Nothing, as yet; I have been travelling since I left Cambridge." He laid his card before her--"Sir Humphrey Woodroffe." "You have the title from your father. I hope you will create new distinctions for yourself." "I suppose," he said coldly, "that I shall go into the House. My people seem to want it. There are too many cads in the House, but it seems that we cannot get through the world without encountering cads." He looked through his hostess, so to speak, and upon the third cousin, perhaps accidentally. "You certainly cannot," observed the third. "For instance, I am sitting with you at luncheon." "You will play something presently, Dick, won't you?" Molly, sitting on the other side of the table, saw a quick flush upon her friend's cheek, and hastened to avert further danger. One may be a cad, but some cads are sensitive to an openly avowed contempt for cads. Dick laughed. "All right, Molly. What shall I play? Something serious, befitting the place? Luncheon is over--I will play now, if you like." He looked down the hall. "That, I suppose, is the musicians' loft?" "That is the musicians' gallery. It is a late addition--Elizabethan, I believe." "The musicians' gallery? Well, Miss Woodroffe, I am the music. Let me play you something in return for the fine ancestors you have given me, and for your gracious hospitality." He took up his violin-case, to which he had clung with fidelity, marched down the hall, climbed up into the gallery, and began to tune his fiddle. "Hilarie," Molly said, "Dick plays in the most lovely way possible. He carries you quite out of yourself. That is why everybody loves him so." However, the artist, standing up alone in the gallery, struck a chord, and began to play. I suppose that the magic belonged to the fiddle itself. It is astonishing what magical powers a fiddle may possess. This was the most sympathetic instrument possible. It was a thought leader or inspirer. The moment it began, all the listeners, including the servants below the salt, sat upright, their eyes fixed upon the gallery, rapt out of themselves.