He found the article and began to read.  The technicalities of musical composition had never appealed to him, but, though by him the writer’s exhaustive knowledge of his subject was not appreciated, by his listener it was greatly so, and, in tense eagerness to miss no word, the latter leaned forward and kept his sightless eyes in the direction of the sound of his voice.

Not for long could he read, however.  In a few moments Carmencita’s hands were outstretched, and, giving one to each, she led them to the table, and at it he sat down as naturally as though it were a familiar occurrence.  In the center was a glass jar with a spray of red geranium in it, and behind the earthen tea-pot the child presided with the ease of long usage.  As she gave him his tea he noticed it was in the only unchipped cup, and on the one kept for herself there was no handle.  Under his breath he swore softly.  Why—­He mentally shook himself.  This was no time for why-ing.

[Illustration:  “Which do you like best, sardines with lemon on ’em, or toasted cheese on toast?”]

As an appetizer the toasted cheese on toasted bread was excellent, but the supper—­if she had only let him get it.  He had not dared insist, and never had he been more consciously a guest, but could people live on fare so scant as this?  It was like Frances to want to know how other people lived—­and not to be content with knowing.  But after she knew how could she sleep at night?  Great God!  If there was to be a day of judgment what could men say—­men like himself and his friends?

CHAPTER VII

For half an hour longer Carmencita chatted gaily, offering dish after dish of imaginary food with the assurance that it would cause no sickness or discomfort, and at the child’s spirit and imagination Van Landing marveled.  The years of ignorance and indifference, in which he had not cared to know what Frances knew all men should know, came back disquietingly, and he wondered if for him it were too late.

As Carmencita got up to clear the table he took out his watch and looked at it, then put it quickly back lest she should see.  Who was going to take the note?  Why couldn’t he go to the place at which was held the class of Little Big Sisters and get Frances?  With a quick indrawing breath he handed his host cigars.

“I hope you smoke,” he said; “that is, if Carmencita does not object.”

“Oh, I don’t object.  Smoke!” Carmencita’s hand was waved.  “After I wash the dishes I’ll write the note, then I’ll go down and get Noodles to take it.  I’ll ask Mr. Robinsky to bring the harp up, Father.  He brought it home for us; he’s a flute-er.”  The explanation was made to Van Landing.  “He always brings it home when Father and I are going somewhere else.  Smoke, please.  I love to smell smoke smell.”