His hands were long and thin--the hands of a musician--and the one on

which his chin rested as he leaned against the mantelshelf trembled

slightly. He had been practicing for three hours. He wore an old, a very

old black velvet jacket, and trousers bulgy at the knees and frayed at

the edges; but both were well brushed, and his shirt and collar were

scrupulously clean, though, like the trousers, they; showed signs of

wear.

He occupied a room just above the Lortons' flat, and the sound of his

piano and violin had entered so fully into Nell's daily life that she

was sometimes conscious of a feeling of uneasiness when it ceased, and

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often caught herself waiting for it to begin again.

"Is it anything I can do?" she asked again, as he remained silent and

lost in watching her.

"Oh, no!" he said. "I wanted him to help me lift the piano to another

part of the room. The sun comes right on to it now, and it's hot. I

tried by myself, but----" He stopped, as if he were ashamed of his

weakness. "You've no idea how heavy a piano can make itself, especially

on a hot day."

"He will be in directly, and delighted to help you. Meanwhile, help me

make the toast, and stop to tea with us."

"I'll help you with the toast," he said. "But I've had my tea, thanks."

It was a falsehood, for he had run out of tea two days before; but he

was proud as well as poor, which is a mistake.

"Oh, well, you can pretend to drink another cup," said Nell lightly; for

she knew that the truth was not in his statement.

He stuck a slice of bread on a toasting fork, but did not kneel down

before the fire for a moment or two.

"Your room faces the same way as mine," he said. "But it always seems

cooler." His dark eyes wandered round meditatively. Small as the room

was, it had that air of neatness which indicates the presence of a lady.

The tea cloth was white, the few ornaments and pictures--brought from

The Cottage--the small bookcase and wicker-work basket gave a touch of

refinement, which was wholly wanting in his own sparsely furnished and

always untidy den. "Coming in here is like--like coming into another

world. I feel sometimes as if I should like to suggest that you should

charge sixpence for admission. It would be worth that sum to most of the

people in the Buildings, as a lesson in the use and beauty of soap and

water and a duster."




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