Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. ’ ‘Oh, she is English?’ repeated Alderley, interest perking up. He had been for months without music of the character he loved—and he dared not play any of it! McClintock, after the music began, left the piano and sat in a corner just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding. She must be beautiful, but beauty is only the beginning. He did his best not to grin. “Excellent fellow!” he answered a little irrelevantly.
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