“Hello, Gwen!” said Ann Veronica, trying to put every one at their ease. 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. “If he is not here now I can make myself safe. In exchange, I simply asked to serve as the Family Physician. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. I ask you, although it is not my place to ask you, to return home.
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