You won't refuse." He eyed her in a puzzled way, but smiled, and sat down to the instrument.

His choice was from Beethoven.

As he played, Serena stood in an attitude of profound attention.

When the music ceased, she went up to him and held out her hand.
"Thank you, Eustace.

I don't think many people can play like that." "No; not very many," he replied quietly, and thereupon kissed her fingers.
He went to the window and looked out into the chill, damp garden.
"Serena, have you any idea what Sicily is like at this time of year ?" "A faint imagination.