Nothing but the constraint of social usage now linked him to her. She wanted to cry out upon herself for the uttermost fool in existence. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. I wonder what men would say if we threw the mask aside—if we really told them what WE thought of them, really showed them what WE were. 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. "Married!—no—no," replied the woollen-draper. “That’s all. “That is as you will,” she said. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously.
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