He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. If ever I could bring myself to ask you any favour, I would ask you to forget even as I have forgotten. "He is," returned Quilt, significantly. . . Her features are the same, yet the change has written its mark into her face.
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