“I’ve been looking out for you,” he said. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. ” She turned herself to one side and propped her head in her hand. Kneebone, he took his departure. 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. And yet—Wait a little, you’d better have every bit of it.
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