No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. One morning he caught her hand suddenly and kissed it. He fancied that when they had had time to reflect, they would regret it still more. ‘No, let me guess,’ he interrupted. "Your audacity passes belief," cried the latter, as soon as his surprise would allow him utterance. “There’s the classes,” said Constance, the well-informed. 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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