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. Let us have no more of this humbug. Anna failed in her painting, our money was gone, and she was forced to earn her own living. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. His hair flew out from the sides of his head like black bats from a belfry, it was unruly and long. The girl nodded sagely. “I must explain to her. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece.
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