The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. 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. Jack submitted to this scrutiny with a very bad grace, and vehemently protested his innocence. Wait a moment. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. Through her door curtain she could see the light from the study lamp. ” “Thank you,” Anna answered.
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