Hadn’t the stomach to admit the truth, had he? I’ll lay any money he labelled you with some foul French name as well. Always. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. "Did I hear you …" began McClintock. It is my business to know most people. Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. 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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