"He varied, Allen, he varied. At times the immortal fire he buried in his unfruitful soil would leap out at my behest; but for the most part Strode was an uncultured yokel. The lambent flame of my fancy, my ethereal fancy, played on the mass harmlessly, or with small result. I could not submit to be bound even by friendship to such a clod, so I got rid of Strode. And how did I do it? I lent him two thousand pounds, and not being able to repay it, shame kept him away. Cheap at the price--cheap at the price. Allen, how does this theme strike you for an opening chorus of Druids--modern Druids, of course? The scene is at Anglesea----" "Wait, father. You hinted the other morning that Mr. Strode would never come back to Wargrove." "Did I?" said Mr. Hill in an airy manner; "I forget." "What grounds had you to say that?" "Grounds--oh, my dear Allen, are you so commonplace as to demand grounds. I forget my train of thought just then--the fancy has vanished: but I am sure that my grounds were such as you would not understand. Why do you ask?" "I may as well be frank," began Allen, when his father stopped him. "No. It is so obvious to be frank. And to-day I am in an enigmatic mood--music is an enigma, and therefore I wish to be mysterious." "I may as well be frank," repeated Allen doggedly, and doggedness was the only way to meet such a trifler as Mr. Hill. "I saw Eva last night, and she related a dream she had." "Ah!" Mr. Hill spun round vivaciously--"now you talk sense. I love the psychic. A dream! Can Eva dream?--such a matter-of-fact girl." "Indeed she's no such thing, sir," said the indignant lover. "Pardon me. You are not a reader of character as I am. Eva Strode at present possesses youth, to cover a commonplace soul. When she gets old and the soul works through the mask of the face, she will be a common-looking woman like your mother." "Oh!" said Allen, at this double insult. But Mrs. Hill laid her hand on his arm, and the touch quietened him. It was useless to be angry with so irresponsible a creature as Mr. Hill. "I must tell you the dream," said Allen with an effort, "and then you can judge if Eva is what you say." "I wait for the dream," replied Mr. Hill, waving his arm airily; "but it will not alter my opinion. She is commonplace, that is why I agreed to your engagement. You are commonplace also--you take after your mother." Mrs. Hill rose quite undisturbed. "I had better go," she said. "By all means, Saccharissa," said Hill graciously; "to-day in my music mood I am a butterfly. You disturb me. Life with me must be sunshine this day, but you are a creature of gloom." "Wait a moment, mother," said Allen, catching Mrs. Hill's hand as she moved quietly to the door, "I want you to hear Eva's dream."