Who is the other?” “What other?” Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. Retract your words instantly, or take the consequences. She was crushed with a sense of her own terrible impotency. The door was fastened by a catch and a latch with an inside key, to which at night a chain and two bolts were added. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. “One hardly knows—all the time. “I daresay the gallery will be full, but there is always the chance, and I know you two are keen on Melba. That’s probably true.
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