Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. His hair was thick and brown and his skin was fair. “Annabel,” she said, “I have never asked you for your confidence. My death, probably. Or else I would have finished him. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. After all, what can it matter? It was just to make sure. He taught her theories about mathematics and science that he invented, theories that were the latest in scientific discovery and that the Church would have considered heretical in nature.
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