Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. “You, too,” he said abruptly. \" \"I'm sorry I didn't call. . If we were to wait till a prig was rightfully nabbed, we might tarry till doomsday. A row of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over this pleasant spot. “When did you start?” She said between puffs. " "Silly love stories?" "No; love wasn't the theme. Your old rooms are there, if you choose. It is a matter of degree. There were shadows under his eyes. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her.
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