” She paused. That's a queer yarn. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. She cried out with the pain of it. “Have you heard things?” The tears stood in her eyes. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air. He got out of the car and lifted her from the convertible before she could open the door.
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