White told me where to find you. Years ago I marked out an intinerary for myself; but the trip never materialized. “I’m so glad my Mom’s letting me go out tonight. "Well, how goes it?" he asked. Sheppard. So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound. There she would wander about in the kindly darkness. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. 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. “I will be off,” she declared. Dieu du ciel, but where was Gerald? On the move again, she found herself standing before one of the mirrors, gazing into her own countenance without seeing it. There are two ways to go in, you understand. She had lost it.
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