Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. “I have never yet met a man whose intellect I could respect. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. He was tall, nearly six feet, and from his stature it was clear that he spent some spare time working on his physique. There were electric and ice plants, and a great store in which one could buy anything from jewsharps to gas-engines. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. ’ ‘Not dead, miss. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. The office is a sight—not one sheet of paper on another; bills and receipts everywhere. She was trembling a little. 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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