I want to make you feel that here is a place where the crowd does not clamor nor ill-winds blow. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. I had no idea you were not the happiest girl. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. To-morrow they will all be contradicted. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s.
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