He told me they had no music at Heart's Desire." In the heart of Constance Ellsworth there went on jealous questionings.
Who was this man from Heart's Desire, who had come a hundred miles to hear a bit of music?
What other could it be than one?
And as to this opera singer, surely she was beautiful, she had charm.

So then-- Constance excused herself and returned to her room.

She did not even descend to say farewell to Donatelli and her bedraggled company, who steamed away from Sky Top slopes in the little train whose whistlings came back triumphantly.

She admitted herself guilty of ignoble joy that this woman--a singer, an artist, a beautiful and dangerous woman as she felt sure--was now gone out of her presence, as indeed she was gone out of her life.

But as to this man from Heart's Desire, how came it that he was not here at the hotel, near to his operatic divinity?
Why did he not appear to say farewell?
Ellsworth and Barkley betook themselves to the gallery after breakfast, and paced up and down, each with his cigar.