She had no courage to take up her violin; the sound of music grew hateful to her, as if mocking at her ruined ambition.
Three months had passed since she received her one and only letter from Honolulu; two months since she had written to Sibyl.

On a blue day of spring, when despondency lowered upon her, and all occupation, all amusements seemed a burden, she was driven to address her friend on the other side of the world, to send a cry of pain and hopelessness to the dream-island of the Pacific.
'What is the use of working at music?
The simple truth is, that since I left England I have given it up.

I am living here on false pretences; I shall never care to play the violin again.

What sort of a reception could I expect from an English audience?
If I took another name, of course it would get known who I was, and people would just come to stare at me--pleasant thought! And I have utterly lost confidence in myself.

The difficulties are great, even where there is great talent, and I feel I have nothing of the kind.