Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. Somebody ought to talk to him, warn him. 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. The papers are continually wondering what has become of ‘Alcide. “If I was the world I think I should have put down a crimson carpet, and asked you to say what you wanted, and generally walk over me. ” “Fine.
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