And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. The musician. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. ‘Oh, the Frenchie. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. “Then I don’t take this as final. " Sailors, he thought; and most of them the dregs of the South Seas, casting their evil glances at this exquisite creature and trying to smirch with innuendo the crystal clearness of her mind. The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again. An ugly flush stained his cheeks. As the woollendraper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses.
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