’ A twinkle crept into Mrs Sindlesham’s eye. No, not one little bit. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. Then she went into the office. He's coming. He had been for months without music of the character he loved—and he dared not play any of it! McClintock, after the music began, left the piano and sat in a corner just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. "Don't speak ill of him behind his back, father," interposed Thames. He drew compellingly upon his new characters to keep him out of this melancholy channel; but they ebbed and ebbed; he could not hold them. F.
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