She opened and read it at once. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be Capes’ friend. . “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. I did not know that you had even 244 started writing a symphony. When I think of it—” “But these are things I want to tell you now!” “I made a little song of it. Saint Giles's Round-house. I must go to work again.
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