It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. . “I expect it is pretty well in shreds by now. ” Ramage looked at her, and then fell into deep reflection as the waiter came to paragraph their talk again. This spot, which still retains its name, acquired the appellation from an old crone who lived there, and who, in addition to a very equivocal character for honesty, enjoyed the reputation of being a witch. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. Or, better still, put all my clothes in the trunk. 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. " So saying, he closed the door.
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