The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. Above the housetops it was different. ” “I think, Mr. “I’ve been thinking—all the afternoon. The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. As they kissed goodbye, she hoped that he felt the same reluctance to part. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. There’s the internal factor as well as the external. “Nobody understands them, of course, but we all look as though we did. He had barely said, \"Anytime,\" before she shut the door rather rudely in his face. 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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