under the eaves. More and more he remembered all that had been beautiful and kindly and pleasant in his home.
Alayne had intended that they should go to a play, but Ernest suggested grand opera because Finch was so fond of music. She had acquiesced, and Rosamond Trent had been able to arrange about the tickets. While they were at dinner, Alayne had suddenly seen Ernest's sweet thoughtfulness in a new light. She remembered having heard him say that above all things he disliked grand opera. "He is a sly old man," she thought. "He intends to work on Finch's feelings through his love of music."
The opera was Aïda. Finch had never heard it before. Tears of happiness filled his eyes, his heart was heavy with the sweetness of music. Yet it was not the music of the orchestra or the singers that moved him. It was the music of the old square piano at home. It was Beethoven's Opus X., which in imagination he was playing. The keys, alive, eager, rose to meet his fingers. With one part of his brain he heard the music of Aïda. With another he followed himself through the intricacies of the movement.
Every now and again Ernest's eyes slid speculatively toward him. He wondered whether the boy were happy or unhappy, whether he should have difficulty in persuading him to come home. The thought of leaving Finch in New York was intolerable to him. The thought of Jalna without Finch seemed insupportable. Not that he had ever found him anything but a commonplace, rather irritating boy. But he was a Whiteoak, one of themselves. Eden's defection had been the first break. If Finch left home, it would seem that disintegration of the family had set in. Besides, there was Mama. It was bad for her to be worried.
He felt suddenly rather tired. It had been an exciting day for him, full of unusual activities. He felt weighted by his responsibility. At the same time he experienced a sense of elation at being at the opera in company with these two well-turned-out women. Ah, if old Nicholas could only see him! Alayne, he thought, was lovelier
