“Annabel,” she said brusquely. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. 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. She would stare if she knew the full sum of Melusine’s activities. This won’t do. He caught the elderly dame’s eye, throwing her a desperate message.
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