Do you think that it makes for happiness to force oneself into the extravagant belief that love is the only thing in the world worth having, and to sacrifice for it independence, self-respect, one’s whole scheme of life. But he tells them that I am a spy. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. 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. Yet the fact remains that you do not understand me at all. He regretted now that in his idle hours he hadn't hunted up one against the rainy day. “Didn’t you know he was married?” asked Miss Klegg, and was struck by a thought that made her glance quickly at her companion.
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