” She murmured. I want to tell every one. He noted an ebony cane laid close to hand, which suggested she was able to get about. ” Presently, as if for comparison with her father’s letter, she got out Ramage’s check from the box that contained her papers. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side.
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