Hear me, adorable girl! You know not the extent of my devotion. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. His tone changed, becoming a little more moderate. I have done n-nothing. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. Be frank, I beg you, Miss Pellissier.
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