"I'm sorry, Mr. "Not entirely," replied Jonathan, calmly; "though I shouldn't be ashamed of it if it were. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. No one ate with as much passionate gusto as a teenager could. ’ She paused, struggling for the word. He looked at her guiltily. 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. She liked to do it for Cathy Beck, so that she could relax after waitressing all day at the Big Apple with a homemade meal.
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