. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. If you don’t eat humble-pie now you may live to fare worse later. ‘It is nothing. He had been for months without music of the character he loved—and he dared not play any of it! McClintock, after the music began, left the piano and sat in a corner just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp. That’s how things are; that’s the order of the world. . She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. It might be upset. Fear nothing. Without her, it was lonely.
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