Hester kissed her, and though she had not understood, Amy went to bed a little comforted. When the Raymounts departed two or three days later, they left her at the top of the cliff-stair, weeping quietly.

Hester had no sooner reached home, hardly taking time to unpack her box, before she went to see her music teacher to make arrangements for taking up her study with her once again.

Miss Dasomma was one of God’s angels, one of those live fountains that carry his gifts to their thirsting fellows. Of Italian descent, English birth, and German training, she had known well some of the greatest composers of her day. But the enthusiasm for her art was mainly the result of her own genius. It was natural, then, that she should exercise a great influence on every pupil who was worthy of her. Without her Hester could never have become what she was. Miss Dasomma was ready to begin at once, and Hester gradually increased her hours of practice, indulging her musical inclinations to the full.

They had not been home more than a week when, one Sunday afternoon, Mr. Vavasor called. This was not quite agreeable to Mrs. Raymount, who liked their Sundays kept quiet. But he was shown to Mr. Raymount’s study.

“I am sorry,” he said, “to call on a Sunday, but I am not so enviably situated as you, Mr. Raymount. I have so little time at my command.”

Mr. Raymount was pleased with him afresh, for he spoke modestly and seemed by his manner to acknowledge the superior position of the elder man. They talked about the prominent questions of the day, and Mr. Raymount was even more pleased when he found the young aristocrat ready to receive enlightenment from his own lips. But the fact was that Vavasor cared very little about the matter. He simply had a light, easy way of touching on things, as if all his concessions, conclusions, concurrences were the merest matter of course. By this he made himself appear a master of a situation over which he merely skimmed on insect wing. Mr. Raymount took him not merely for a man of thought, but even of some originality—capable at least of forming an opinion of his own.

In relation to the wider circle of the country, Mr. Vavasor was so entirely a nobody that the acquaintance of a writer even so partially known as Mr. Raymount was something to him. There is a tinselly halo about the writer of books, and this attracted the young man. Since his return he had instituted inquiries concerning Mr. Raymount, and finding both him and his family in good repute, he had told his aunt as much about them as he judged prudent. Miss Vavasor, however, being naturally skeptical of the opinions of young men, made inquiries for herself. From these she learned that there was a rather distinguished-looking girl in the family. Having, however, her own ideas for the nephew whose interests she had, for the sake of the impending title, made her own, she put off any visit, hoping his interest in the family would wane. But, though she declined to call, he went all the more often to see them.