G'night, kids. Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. The longing to talk to someone! But in the end she had gone to her room without giving in to the craving. I told him instantly and shamelessly that the play was going to be worth ten thousand pounds. I'll leave these out, and to-morrow you can read them through. 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. "How very fortunate it is," he observed, "that I happened to call upon Mr.
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