CHAPTER XII
"ROSES IN THE MOONLIGHT"
THE Maestro's house wore always a mantle of gentle aloofness, like something forgotten among its overgrown garden paths. To Kirk, it was a place under a spell; to the others, who could see its grave, vine—covered, outer walls and its dim interior crowded with strange and wonderful things, it seemed a lodging place for memories, among which the Maestro moved as if he himself were living a remembered dream.
On this rich September afternoon, they found him standing on the upper terrace, waiting for them. He took Kirk's hand, offered his arm gallantly to Felicia, and they all entered the high-studded hall, where the firelight, reaching rosy shafts from the library, played catch-as-catch-can with the shadows.
Supper, a little later, was served in the din-
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