The eminent painter had handsome, expressive features, an aquiline nose, and a good deal of dignity in his manner. 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. In his way he was critical. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. She makes me feel terribly old-fashioned. ‘Don’t try to turn it off,’ ordered Miss Froxfield. I have always loved you. Look at me. " "Think not to delude me, audacious wretch," cried the carpenter.
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