The mahogany wainscotted walls were decked with fine portraits of the world's great masters of melody.
Handsome cabinets contained costly and elaborate collections and folios of music, a complete library of the entire world's best productions.

The girl's harp--a masterpiece by Pestalozzi of Venice--stood at one side; on the other, a five hundred dollar Victrola, with a wonderful repertoire of records.

But the grand piano itself dominated all, especially made for Catherine by Durand Freres, in Paris, and imported on the Billionaire's own yacht, the "Bandit." A wondrous instrument, this, finer even than the pipe-organ in an alcove at the far end of the room.

It summed up all that the world's masters knew of instrument-production; and its cost, from factory to its present place at Idle Hour, represented twenty years' wages, and more, of any of Flint's slaves in the West Virginia mines or the Glenn Pool oil-fields of Oklahoma.
At this magnificent piano the girl now seated herself, on a bench of polished teak, from Mindanao.

And, turning to her father, who had sunk down in his favorite easy-chair of Russia leather, she asked with a smile: "Well, daddy, what shall I play for you, to-night ?" He looked at her a minute, before replying.