Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/keynotenovel00burniala THE KEY NOTE A Novel by CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM [Illustration: Logo] Boston and New York Houghton Mifflin Company The Riverside Press Cambridge 1921 Copyright, 1921, by Clara Louise Burnham All Rights Reserved TO JOSEPHINE CONTENTS I. THE RAPSCALLION 1 II. VERONICA 19 III. A FRIENDLY PACT 45 IV. BIOGRAPHY 70 V. A FIRELIGHT INTERVIEW 90 VI. THE HAUNTED FARM 110 VII. ANOTHER WOUND 125 VIII. SKETCHES 137 IX. A WORKING PLAN 151 X. NICHOLAS GAYNE CONFIDES 164 XI. THE NEWPORT LETTER 181 XII. COUSIN HERBERT 194 XIII. THE LAW 208 XIV. THE WILL 222 XV. A SUDDEN JOURNEY 234 XVI. THE NEW CLIENT 246 XVII. THE HEIR 262 XVIII. DIANA'S IDEAL 276 XIX. MOONLIGHT 293 XX. REUNION 303 XXI. GOOD-BYES 317 XXII. THE DINNER PARTY 329 XXIII. THE MOON-GODDESS 345 THE KEY NOTE CHAPTER I THE RAPSCALLION The sea glittered in all directions. The grassy field, humpy with knolls and lumpy with gray rock, sloped down toward the near-by water. Bunches of savin and bay and groups of Christmas trees flourished in the fresh June air, and exhilarating balsamic odors assailed Miss Burridge's nostrils as she stood in the doorway viewing the landscape o'er and reflectively picking her teeth with a pin. "It's an awful sightly place to fail in, anyway," she thought. Her one boarder came and stood beside her. She was a young woman with a creamy skin, regular features, dark, dreaming eyes, and a pleasant, slow smile. "Are you gathering inspiration, Miss Burridge?" she asked, settling a white tam-o'-shanter on her smooth brown locks. "I hope so, Miss Wilbur. I need it." "How could any one help it!" was Diana Wilbur's soft exclamation, as she took a deep breath and gazed at the illimitable be-diamonded blue. Priscilla Burridge turned her middle-aged gaze upon the enthusiasm of the twentieth year beside her. "Do you know of any inspiration that would make me able to get the carpenter to come and jack up the saggin' corner of that piazza?" she asked. "Or get the plumber to mend the broken pipe in the kitchen?" Miss Wilbur's dreaming gaze came back to the bony figure in brown calico. "It seems almost sacrilege, doesn't it," she said in a voice of awe, "to speak of carpenters and plumbers in a place like this? Such odors, such crystal beauty untouched by the desecrating hand of man."