Lucy stared at the girl for a long ten seconds, and then looked away. ‘Then it must certainly be Eugénie. He was a handsome man, and Lucy could see the strong resemblance of John to him. “Too much sensibility and too cold a heart. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. ” He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voice lowered to a convenient pitch. I kept them on myself till the sight of your empty chair and the chill loneliness of it all nearly sent me mad. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. ‘That is, if she’s gone that way. 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.
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