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. Voilà tout. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail. Neither did his interest,—which was by no means inconsiderable,—nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he desired. And they’ll shut the gates presently. He looked at it with uplifted eyebrows, but made no remark. Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual.
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