‘You said she was beautiful. "Well, since you force me to betray my master's secrets," replied Quilt, sullenly, "I've ridden express to Manchester to deliver a message to Sir Rowland. Guiltily, she felt very little for him, and yet she wondered what he would be like. He sees men all defiled by coarse thoughts, coarse ways of living cruelties. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. ‘Don’t concern yourself. 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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