"But are you really there?" "No, I'm here," answered Jack, leaping down. 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. Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. Eight per cent. She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said.
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