“I have a letter for him from his brother, which I was just leaving. ’ ‘Oh, a ruin,’ exclaimed Mrs Sindlesham, throwing up a hand. ’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. 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 made no answer, and for a time he debated some problems with himself.
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