Mary Evelyn could not disguise her admiration and envy for a moment, then inquired with a mean smirk why the piano was locked, and was it because nobody was allowed to play it. Taunted by this, Lena was driven to look for the key in the kitchen cabinet, where unfortunately she did find it in the broken sugar bowl. She haughtily invited Mary Evelyn to join her in a duet and they were seated playing “Chopsticks” when suddenly a figure loomed in the doorway. It was the new Mrs. Willard in her fawn-colored suit. Her face was white and stony, her marble eyes sparked with fury. Not quite sure what was wrong, both girls froze at this image of wrath. The lady stalked over to the piano and shut down the keyboard almost on their very fingers.

“Give me that key,” she commanded in a low hoarse voice, and as Lena weakly obeyed she said through her teeth, “You are not to touch this piano, never, do you hear?”

“I was only—”

“None of your impudence!” Mrs. Willard snarled. “Who told you you could come in this room? I won’t have you little demons trooping in and out, pawing my good furniture with your filthy hands. Your father will hear of this.”

Mary Evelyn was out of the door and halfway down the block in a flash. But Lena, after her first shock, stubbornly stood her ground.

“I guess I’m supposed to have my music lessons, like my father promised,” she said haughtily. “Where am I supposed to practice?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” muttered Mrs. Willard. “Just stay out of this room with your dirty boots.”

On the front porch Minelda, still in her carriage, wailed loudly to be brought inside.

“Let her yell,” Lena said in a loud voice, and ran to join Mary Evelyn.

The former Miss Hawkins stood for a moment darting her eyes about the room, studying what must be done to repair the desolate ruin that twenty minutes of invasion had wrought. Without taking off her hat—it was the big one with the flowers—she ran for a dust cloth and began frantically to polish away imaginary stains from the piano. She tested a few notes to see how much out of key the abuse had left the sensitive instrument, then for a final test sat down to play her one and only selection, “Work for the Night is Coming,” with one hand. The notes seemed unimpaired, but she shook her head convinced that some interior damage had been done, then she locked the keyboard lovingly. She got down on her knees to wipe from a very red rose in the carpet the mud tracks she fancied must be there. It took her several minutes to arrange Snowbound at its proper angle on the refectory table, and even then her earnest inspection could not inform her whether its contents had been violated by the intruder’s eyes. In the midst of these repairs she suddenly realized that Lena had actually drawn up one of the white shades, and this atrocity brought from her a moan of genuine anguish. Her eyes were red-rimmed when Papa came home, and when he asked what was wrong, she put her head on his shoulder and sobbed, “Oh Harry, Harry, what am I going to do? I can’t stand seeing our home wrecked by these children. You’ve got to speak to them, dear, before they pull the whole place down around our ears!”