The hall was almost dark, but the room beyond was a blaze of light, with
the curtains drawn, and apparently every lamp the house contained
trimmed and burning. He himself stood in the shadow, and his entrance
had been unnoticed, though almost the entire expanse of the room before
him was visible through the half-open doorway.
In the farther corner of the room a large evergreen tree, sparkling with
candles and tinsel stars, was hung with bags of pink and white tarletan
and festoons of puffy popcorn. Near it sat an old man playing the
violin; and his whole wiry self seemed to quiver with joy to the tune of
his merry "Money Musk." In the center of the room two gray-haired men
were dancing an old-time jig, bobbing, bowing, and twisting about in a
gleeful attempt to outdo each other. Watching them were three old women
and another old man, eating ice cream and contentedly munching
peppermints. And here, there, and everywhere was the mistress of the
house, Lydia Ann herself, cheeks flushed and cap-strings flying, but
plainly in her element and joyously content.
For a time the man by the hall door watched in silent amazement; then
with a low ejaculation he softly let himself out of the house, and
hurried back to the hotel.
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