"You play mighty fine, Mr. Lowell," he said.
Mr. Lowell swung about. "Ken, you are at home. Come, I'll show you your room."
The bedrooms were below. Ken entered his room. "Elsie De Wolfe designed his," said Mr. Lowell, "cream and green … a touch of garden between walls. The bed is better than mine. Sit down, dear boy."
Kenneth noticed that his other suit was already hanging in the wardrobe, placed there by the butler. He sat facing Mr. Lowell, who watched him for a moment, then took his hand and held it.
"You are going to be splendid, Kenneth," he said. "This is a beginning. Tomorrow a tutor, a tailor, a career."
"A career?"
"Yes. You are not here only because I prefer to have you here. You must work, study, rise. Do you want to go to school?"
"Perhaps." Kenneth noticed scented incense rising from a curiously carved ivory burner. The very air was laden with perfume.
"Tomorrow," said Mr. Lowell, "I must go north to inspect some of my property. When I return, you will tell me what you want to do."
"How long will you be gone?"
"A few days." A smile flitted across the lips of the old man. "You will miss me?"
"Yes."
"I like to hear that. Tell me … do you miss your father?"
Ken had not thought of his father—not even of Uncle Joe—since he had arrived in Pasadena. Now his face was
