“Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. “It has been a delightful evening for me. ‘Oh! little Vee!’ he cried, ‘little Vee!’ and put his face between his hands and sat still for a long time before he broke out again. ” She rose up. You denied it at the time—but unfortunately I have proof. This had well nigh been the case with the carpenter. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?" He had answered: "I am. You have the gift of words, but you haven't started to create yet. I can be a gentleman.
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