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“Mudgie never saw any fairies,” replied Mrs. Mifsud, “But she is glad St. Elmo can see them.” The pianist took a long look at Nell who had been visibly affected by his playing. Misgivings that date back to Eden were leaping into life in his breast. He had been in love more times than he could count, but here was the girl after all. He began a Scherzo of his own composition. Youth gathering flowers at the open mouth of a volcano. The melody was born to live forever. He was a genius. Now Nell knew it and her soul worshipped genius. Howard Eliot was far from her thoughts as she listened to the enchanting chain of melodies that poured forth. Mrs. Mifsud who had listened to this recital with polite interest, now excused herself on the plea of urgent duties in the kitchen..
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“Yeh Mar, I’m comin’.” But at last they got under way and proceeded as quietly as possible down the back street to the home of Mrs. Lancaster, where Buzz, as the “Prize Baby of Vine County,” awaited them in his car, which was very handsome,—one would never have dreamed it was only a large wash-tub strapped to a coaster; flowers and cloth do make such wonderful changes if handled with art! Every morning during the summer a bunch of morning-glories, wet with dew, adorned the breakfast table. Blue and pink and white, they seemed the very spirit of morning freshness and sweetness. “A doctor’s wife gets over ‘expecting’ very young, Billy. They won’t think I’m dead if I don’t come home to lunch. But your mother?” His inflection finished the question..
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