“I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. But she did not listen long; she wanted to talk. ” He went to the window and fidgeted with the blind, looking out to where the tree-tops of Regent’s Park showed distantly over the houses. ” She exhaled through her mouth and could not bring her eyes to meet his. It felt wonderful and golden to bask in the sunlight of their approval, even if their approval was fickle and dangerous. “I—I didn’t love the man I was engaged to,” she said. Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters.
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