something."

"If you promise not to laugh, I will try, but I assure you I know
nothing about it. I borrowed a violin once, and I taught myself to
play a tune; then I bought a violin, and I amuse myself when I am
alone."

"How very clever of you. There, you will find it under the piano
behind that music; do play something, it will be so good of you."

"What shall I play?"

"Anything you like."

Frank had no knowledge of the instrument, but his ear was exquisitely
just and appreciative; his artistic desire was febrile and foolish,
but you thought less of this in his music than in his painting and
poetry. His soul went out in the strain of melody sentimentally; and
it leaned him in varying and beautiful attitudes. The sweeping, music-
evoking arm was beautiful to behold, and the music seemed to cry for
love; all about him was shadow; only the light fell on the long
throat, so like a fruit to the eye; the charm was enervating and
nervous. Helen looked at him again, and shuddering, she rose from the
piano.

"What did you break off like that for? Was I playing so badly?"

"No, no--come and sit down here, come and sit by me. I want you to
talk to me." She stretched herself in a low wicker chair by the open
window. There was a church opposite, the painted panes were now full