"By the way, who is the violinist at Far End?
Is it the 'Hermit' himself ?" "It's rumoured that he does play," said Molly.

"But no one has ever been privileged to hear him." "Their loss, then," commented Sara shortly.

"I should say he is a magnificent performer." Molly nodded, an expression of impish amusement in her eyes.
"On the sole occasion I met him, I asked him why no one was ever allowed to hear him play," she said, chuckling.

"I even suggested that he might contribute a solo to the charity concert we were getting up at the time!" "And what did he say ?" asked Sara, smiling.
"Told me that there was no need for a man to exhibit his soul to the public! So I asked him what he meant, and he said that if I understood anything about music I would know, and that if I didn't, it was a waste of his time trying to explain.

Do _you_ know what he meant ?" "Yes," said Sara slowly, "I think I do." And recalling the passionate appeal and sadness of the music she had heard that afternoon, she was conscious of a sudden quick sense of pity for the solitary hermit of Far End.