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“When you married me——” Her little hand flashed out across the table. But luncheon and dinners you will sit at my table. Then they dressed her in a dirty dress of coarse serge and a cap, and took away her own clothes. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. Her face scarcely reflected his enthusiasm. Her amusement fled and she stared at him, as a slow thump began beating at her breast. Perhaps, after all, the others were right.
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