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. In a convent, you understand, one is like a servant, even if one is a lady. He was suddenly calm. Loved his memory still, for all he knew. “I ought to have done. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem. Every one looked at Anna. You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered.
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