Harden was already retreating toward the room from which he had been drawn to meet the caller, and his wife immediately followed. Both repeated their expressions of pleasure at meeting Bruce; but presumably, in the accepted fashion of American parents when their daughters entertain callers, they had no intention of appearing again. Millicent snapped on lights that disclosed a long, high-ceilinged room finished in dark oak and fitted up as a library. A disintegrating log in the broad fireplace had thrown out a puff of smoke that gave the air a fleeting pungent scent. The flooring was of white and black tiles covered with oriental rugs in which the dominant dark red brought a warmth to the eye. Midway of the room stood a grand piano, and beyond it a spiral stair led to a small balcony on which the console of an organ was visible. Back of this was a stained glass window depicting a knight in armor--a challenging, militant figure. Even as revealed only by the inner illumination, its rich colors and vigorous draughtsmanship were clearly suggested. And it was wholly appropriate, Bruce decided, and altogether consonant with the general scheme of the room. Noting his interest, Millicent turned a switch that lighted the window from a room beyond with the effect of vitalizing the knight’s figure, making him seem indeed to be gravely riding, with lance in rest, along the wall. “Do pardon me!” Bruce murmured, standing just inside the door and glancing about with frank enjoyment of the room’s spaciousness. The outer lines of the somewhat commonplace square brick house had not prepared him for this. The room presented a mingling of periods in both architecture and furnishing, but the blending had been admirably done. “Forgive me for staring,” he said as he sat down on a divan opposite her with the hearth between them. “I’m not sure even yet that I’m in the twentieth century!” “I suppose it is a queer jumble; but don’t blame the architect! He, poor wretch, thought we were perfectly crazy when we started, but I think before he got through he really liked it.” “I envy him the fun he had doing it! But someone must have furnished the inspiration. I’m going to assume that it was mostly you.” “You may if you’ll go ahead and criticize--tear it all to pieces.” “I’d as soon think of criticizing Chartres, Notre Dame, or the hand that rounded Peter’s dome!” Bruce exclaimed. “Alas that our acquaintance is so brief! I want to ask you all manner of questions--how you came to do it--and all that.” “Well, first of all one must have an indulgent father and mother. I’m reminded occasionally that my little whims were expensive.” “I dare say they were! But it’s something to have a daughter who can produce a room like this.” He rose and bowed to her, and then turning toward the knight in the window, gravely saluted. “I’m not so sure,” he said as he sat down, “that the gentleman up there didn’t have something to do with it.”