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 *nowned Merrill Link smoking a cigar on his porch, and were cheered by a condescending bow from the great one. The uninteresting Jenkins was training a wistaria vine on to a trellis; from the Beatties' cottage issued the soft strains of Goddard's Second Waltz. Miles didn't know it was that, but it seemed of a piece with the quiet beauty of the evening and made his heart beat a little faster; and he would have lingered within sound of the piano had not Hunter drawn him forcibly on.

"It's murder," he growled. "Come on, for heaven's sake!"

"I'm glad I'm not musical," said Miles. "One's range of pleasure is so much broader if one hasn't a cultivated ear. Now I, in my ignorance, liked that."