He called Harmony.  She had given Jimmy his supper and was carrying out a tray that seemed hardly touched.

“He won’t eat to-night,” she said miserably.  “Peter, if he stops eating, what can we do?  He is so weak!”

Peter, took the tray from her gently.

“Harry dear,” he said, “I want you to come into the salon.  Some one wishes to speak to you.”

“To me?”

“Yes.  Harry, do you remember that evening in the kitchen when—­Do you recall what I promised?”

“Yes, Peter.”

“You are sure you know what I mean?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all right, then.  McLean wants to see you.”

She hesitated, looking up at him.

“McLean?  You look so grave, Peter.  What is it?”

“He will tell you.  Nothing alarming.”

Peter gave McLean a minute alone after all, while he carried the tray to the kitchen.  He had no desire to play watchdog over the girl, he told himself savagely; only to keep himself straight with her and to save her from McLean’s impetuosity.  He even waited in the kitchen to fill and light his pipe.

McLean had worked himself into a very fair passion.  He was intense, almost theatrical, as he stood with folded arms waiting for Harmony.  So entirely did the girl fill his existence that he forgot, or did not care to remember, how short a time he had known her.  As Harmony she dominated his life and his thoughts; as Harmony he addressed her when, rather startled, she entered the salon and stood just inside the closed door.

“Peter said you wanted to speak to me.”

McLean groaned.  “Peter!” he said.  “It is always Peter.  Look here, Harmony, you cannot stay here.”

“It is only for a few hours.  To-morrow some one is coming.  And, anyhow, Peter is going to Semmering.  We know it is unusual, but what can we do?”

“Unusual!  It’s—­it’s damnable.  It’s the appearance of the thing, don’t you see that?”

“I think it is rather silly to talk of appearance when there is no one to care.  And how can I leave?  Jimmy needs me all the time—­”

“That’s another idiocy of Peter’s.  What does he mean by putting you in this position?”

“I am one of Peter’s idiocies.”

Peter entered on that.  He took in the situation with a glance, and Harmony turned to him; but if she had expected Peter to support her, she was disappointed.  Whatever decision she was to make must be her own, in Peter’s troubled mind.  He crossed the room and stood at one of the windows, looking out, a passive participant in the scene.

The day had been a trying one for Harmony.  What she chose to consider Peter’s defection was a fresh stab.  She glanced from McLean, flushed and excited, to Peter’s impassive back.  Then she sat down, rather limp, and threw out her hands helplessly.

“What am I to do?” she demanded.  “Every one comes with cruel things to say, but no one tells me what to do.”