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soldier say？〃
〃Eats！〃 answered Kitty。
All tension vanished in the double laughter that followed。 They
approached dinner with something of the spirit that had induced
Hawksley to fiddle and Kitty to pass the hat in front of the
Metropolitan Opera House。 Hawksley's recuperative powers promised
well for his future。 By the time coffee was served his head had
cleared and his legs had resumed their normal functions of support。
〃I was so infernally bored！〃
〃And now？〃 asked Kitty； recklessly。
〃Fancy asking me that！〃
〃Do you realize that all this is dreadfully improper？〃
〃Oh； I say； now！ Where's the harm？ If ever there was a young
woman capable of taking care of herself … 〃
〃That isn't it。 It's just being here alone with you。〃
〃But you are not alone with me！〃
〃Kuroki？〃 Kitty shrugged。
〃No。 At my side of the table is Stefani Gregor； at yours the man
who has befriended me。〃
〃Thank you for that。 I don't know of anything nicer you could say。
But the outside world would see neither of our friends。 I did not
come here to see you。〃
〃No need of telling me that。〃
〃I had a problem … a very difficult one … to solve； and I believed
that I might solve it if I came to these rooms。 I had quite
forgotten you。〃
Instantly； upon receiving this blunt explanation； he determined that
she should never cease to remember him after this night。 His vanity
was not touched； it was something far more elusive。 It was perhaps
a recurrence of that inexplicable desire to hurt。 Somehow he sensed
the flexible steel behind which lay the soul of this baffling girl。
He would presently find a chink in the armour with that old Amati。
Blows on the head have few surgical comparisons。 That which kills
one man only temporarily stuns another。 One man loses his identity；
another escapes with all his faculties and suffers but trifling
inconvenience。 In Hawksley's case the blow had probably restricted
some current of thought； and that which would have flowed normally
now shot out obliquely； perversely。 It might be that the natural
perverseness of his blood； unchecked by the noble influence of
Stefani Gregor and liberated by the blow； governed his thoughts in
relation to Kitty。 The subjugation of women； the old cynical
warfare of sex … the dominant business of his rich and idle
forbears； the business that had made Boris Karlov a deadly and
implacable enemy … became paramount in his disordered brain。
She had forgotten him！ Very well。 He would stir the soul of her；
play with it； lift it to the stars and dash it down … if she had a
soul。 Beautiful； natural； alone。 He became all Latin under the
pressure of this idea。
〃I will play for you；〃 he said； quietly。
〃Please！ And then I'll go home where I belong。 I'll be in the
living room。〃
When he returned he found her before a window； staring at the myriad
lights。
〃Sit here；〃 he said； indicating the divan。 〃I shall stand and walk
about as I play。〃
Kitty sat down； touching the pillows； reflectively。 She thought of
the tears she had wept upon them。 That sinister and cynical thought！
Suddenly she saw light。 Her problem would have been none at all if
Cutty had said he loved her。 There would have been something sublime
in making him happy in his twilight。 He had loved and lost her
mother。 To pay him for that！ He was right。 Those twenty…odd years
… his seniority … had mellowed him； filled him with deep and tender
understanding。 To be with him was restful； the very thought of him
now was resting。 No matter how much she might love a younger man he
would frequently torture her by unconscious egoism； and by the time
he had mellowed； the mulled wine would be cold。 If only Cutty had
said he loved her！
〃What shall I play？〃
Kitty raised her eyes in frank astonishment。 There was a fiercely
proud expression on Hawksley's face。 It was not the man； it was the
artist who was angry。
〃Forgive me！ I was dreaming a little；〃 she apologized with quick
understanding。 〃I am not quite … myself。〃
〃Neither am I。 I will play something to fit your dream。 But wait！
When I play I am articulate。 I can express myself … all emotions。
I am what I play … happy； sad； gay； full of the devil。 I warn
you。 I can speak all things。 I can laugh at you； weep with you；
despise you； love you！ All in the touch of these strings。 I warn
you there is magic in this Amati。 Will you risk it？〃
Ordinarily … had this florid outburst come from another man … Kitty
would have laughed。 It had the air of piqued vanity； but she knew
that this was not the interpretation。 On the streets he had been
the most amusing and surprising comrade she had ever known； as
merry and whimsical as Cutty … young and handsome … the real man。
He had been real that night when he entered through her kitchen
window； with the drums of jeopardy about his neck。 He had been real
that night she had brought him his wallet。
Electric antagonism … the room seemed charged with it。 The man had
stepped aside for a moment and the great noble had taken his place。
It was not because she had been reared in rather a theatrical
atmosphere that she transcribed his attitude thus。 She knew that
he was noble。 That she did not know his rank was of no consequence。
Cutty's narrative； which she had pretended to believe； had set this
man in the middle class。 Never in this world。 There was only one
middle class out of which such a personality might； and often did；
emerge … the American middle class。 In Europe； never。 No peasant
blood； no middle…class corpuscle； stirred in this man's veins。 The
ancient boyar looked down at her。
〃Play！〃 said Kitty。 There was a smile on her lips； but there was
fiery challenge in her slate…blue eyes。 The blood of Irish kings
… and what Irishman dares deny it？ … surged into her throat。
We wear masks； we inherit generations of masks； and a trivial
incident reveals the primordial which lurks in each one of us。
Savages … Kitty with her stone hatchet and Hawksley swinging the
curved blade of Hunk。
He began one of those tempestuous compositions； brilliant and
bewildering； that submerge the most appreciative lay mentality
… because he was angry； a double anger that he should be angry
over he knew not what … and broke off in the middle of the
composition because Kitty sat upright； stonily unimpressed。
Tschaikowsky's 〃Serenade Melancolique。〃 Kitty； after a few
measures； laid aside her stone hatchet； and her body relaxed。
Music！ She began to absorb it as parched earth absorbs the tardy
rain。 Then came the waltz which had haunted her。 Her face grew
tenderly beautiful； and Hawksley； a true artist； saw that he had
discovered the fifth string； and he played upon it with all the
artistry which was naturally his and which had been given form by
the master who had taught him。
For the physical exertions he relied upon nerve energy again。
Nature is generous when we are young。 No matter how much we draw
against the account she always has a little more for us。 He forgot
that only an hour gone he had been dizzy with pain； forgot
everything but the glory of the sounds he was evoking and their
visible