I hope—I am sure that he did not see me. . 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. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. He thought of his severe attitude towards the girl who was rightly and with contempt refusing his measured help. But as she got out of the train at Morningside Park Station she had a shock. Little by little, she stopped hating him. A lovely, fetching girl. . ’ ‘But I can’t leave you, miss.
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