violets, which grew everywhere at the Callow; a big bunch of them was
at her throat like a cameo brooch.

When she entered the band faltered, and the cornet, a fiery young man
whom none could tire, wavered into silence. Edward, turning to find out
what had caused this most desirable event, saw her coming up the room
with the radiant fatefulness of a fairy in a dream. His heart went out
to her, not only for her morning air, her vivid eyes, her coronet of
youth's rare violets, but for the wistfulness that was not only in her
face, but in her poise and in every movement. He felt as he would to a
small bright bird that had come, greatly daring, in at his window on a
stormy night. She had entered the empty room of his heart, and from
this night onwards his only thought was how to keep her there.

When she went up to sing, his eyes dwelt on her. She was the most vital
thing he had ever seen. The tendrils of burnished hair about her
forehead and ears curled and shone with life; her eyes danced with
life; her body was taut as a slim arrow ready to fly from life's bow.

Abel sat down in the middle of the platform and began to play, quite
regardless of Hazel, who had to start when she could.

'Harps in heaven played for you;
Played for Christ with his eyes so blue;
Played for Peter and for Paul,
But never played for me at all!

Harps in heaven, made all of glass,
Greener than the rainy grass.
Ne'er a one but is bespoken,