He looked at Connie with his brilliant eyes, and she seemed to see that he was on the point of confiding in her, of complaining of his treatment, and then proudly checked himself.
"Oh, I like it well enough," he said carelessly.

"I am reading classics.
I love Greek.

There is a soul in Greek.

Latin--and Rome--that is too like the Germans! Now let me play to you--something from Poland." He took her seat at the piano, and began to play--first in a dreamy and quiet way, passing from one plaintive folk-song to another; then gradually rising into passion, defiance, tragedy.

Constance stood listening to him in amazement--entranced.