She had not even tried to make a comrade of him, to let him into her interests and to try and share his own.
Instead, she had shut herself away in the West Parlour with her music and her memories, and in his own blundering fashion Roger had realised it.
Probably he had even guessed that that other man who had loved her had been able to go with her into the temple of music, comprehending it all and loving it even as she did.
She understood Roger's strange and sudden jealousy now.

Although she was to be his wife, he was jealous of those invisible bonds of mutual understanding which had linked her to Peter Mallory--bonds which, had they two been free to marry, would have made of their marriage a perfect thing--the beautiful mating of spirit, soul, and body.
The doors of her soul--that innermost sanctuary of all--would never be opened for any other to enter in.

But surely there was something more that she might give Roger than she had yet done.

She could stretch out a friendly hand and try to link their interests together, however slight the link must be.
All at once, a plan to accomplish this formulated itself in her mind.

He had wanted to "smash the piano." Well, he should never want that again.
She would show him that her music was not going to stand between them--that she was willing to share it with him.