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Di
“Yes, yes, yes,” he said. “I see, I see.”
What did he see? The nervousness of the victim seized her suddenly, and she pressed her open hands together.
“Raise the hands, Miss Cherrell. No! Too Mado
“Glad?” asked Di
“Not too glad; just—Yes, an English eye; candid but reserved. Now the turn of the neck. Ah! A leetle tilt. Ye—es. Almost stag-like; almost—a touch of the—not startled—no, of the aloof.”
He again began to draw and write with a sort of remoteness, as if he were a long way off.
And Di
The ‘young man’ stopped and stood back, his head very much on one side, so that all his attention seemed to come out of his eyeglass.
“The expression,” he muttered.
“I expect,” said Di
“Naughty!” said the ‘young man’: “Deeper. Could I play that piano for a minute?”
“Of course. But I’m afraid it’s not been played on lately.”
“It will serve.” He sat down, opened the piano, blew on the keys, and began playing. He played strongly, softly, well. Di
“What is it?”
“A Chorale of Bach, set by a pianist.” And the ‘young man’ nodded his eyeglass towards the keys.
“Glorious! Your ears on heaven and your feet in flowery fields,” murmured Di
The ‘young man’ closed the piano and stood up.
“That’s what I want, that’s what I want, young lady!”
“Oh!” said Di