Jimmy was restless. Usually Harmony's music put him to sleep; but that night he lay awake, even after Peter had closed all the doors. Peter came in and sat with him in the dark, going over now and then to cover him, or to give him a drink, or to pick up the cage of mice which Jimmy insisted on having beside him and which constantly slipped off on to the floor. After a time Peter lighted the night-light, a bit of wick on a cork floating in a saucer of lard oil, and set it on the bedside table. Then round it he arranged Jimmy's treasures, the deer antlers, the cage of mice, the box, the wooden sentry. The boy fell asleep. Peter sat in the room, his dead pipe in his teeth, and thought of many things. It was very late when young McLean left. The two had played until they stopped for very weariness. Anna had yawned herself off to bed. From Jimmy's room Peter could hear the soft hum of their voices. “You have been awfully good to me,” McLean said as he finally rose to go. “I--I want you to know that I'll never forget this evening, never.” “It has been splendid, hasn't it? Since little Scatchy left there has been no one for the piano. I have been lonely sometimes for some one to talk music to.” Lonely! Poor Peter! “Then you will let me come back?” “Will I, indeed! I--I'll be grateful.” “How soon would be proper? I dare say to-morrow you'll be busy--Christmas and all that.” “Do you mean you would like to come to-morrow?” “If old Peter wouldn't be fussed. He might think--” “Peter always wants every one to be happy. So if you really care--” “And I'll not bore you?” “Rather not!” “How--about what time?” “In the afternoon would be pleasant, I think. And then Jimmy can listen. He loves music.” McLean, having found his fur-lined coat, got into it as slowly as possible. Then he missed a glove, and it must be searched for in all the dark corners of the salon until found in his pocket. Even then he hesitated, lingered, loath to break up this little world of two. “You play wonderfully,” he said. “So do you.” “If only something comes of it! It's curious, isn't it, when you think of it? You and I meeting here in the center of Europe and both of us working our heads off for something that may never pan out.” There was something reminiscent about that to Harmony. It was not until after young McLean had gone that she recalled. It was almost word for word what Peter had said to her in the coffee-house the night they met. She thought it very curious, the coincidence, and pondered it, being ignorant of the fact that it is always a matter for wonder when the man meets the woman, no matter where. Nothing is less curious, more inevitable, more amazing. “You and I,” forsooth, said Peter! “You and I,” cried young McLean! CHAPTER XVI Quite suddenly Peter's house, built on the sand, collapsed. The shock came on Christmas-Day, after young McLean, now frankly infatuated, had been driven home by Peter.