He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. She could not bear the shame of it. Ennison. Is that it? I thought this very pretty. But with returning breath came returning vociferations; and the carpenter, with a faint hope of lessening the clamour by change of scene, took up his lantern, opened the door, and walked out. ’ ‘Then you’re mad,’ Roding said flatly, and suddenly grinned.
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