She sat up. Music--violin music! A gay waltz that made her think of
flashing water, the laughter of children. Tschaikowsky. Thrilled, she
waited for the finale. Silence. Scharwenka's "Polish Dance," with a
swing and a fire beyond anything she had ever heard before. Another
stretch of silence--a silence full of interrogation points. Then a
tender little sketch, quite unfamiliar. But all at once she understood.
He was imploring her to return. She smiled in the dark; but she knew she
was going to remain right where she was.
"Miss Conover?" It was the voice of the nurse.
"Yes. I'm over here on the divan."
"Anything wrong?"
"Good gracious, no! I'm overtired. A little hysterical, maybe. The
parade to-day, with all those wounded boys in automobiles, the music and
colour and excitement--have rather done me up. And the way I rushed up
here. And not finding Cutty--"
"Anything I can get for you?"
"No, thanks. I'll try to snatch a little sleep before Cutty returns."
"But he may be gone all night!"
"Will it be so very scandalous if I stay here?"
"You poor child! Go ahead and sleep. Don't hesitate to call me if you
want anything. I have a mild sedative if you would like it."
"No, thanks. I did not know that Mr. Hawksley played."
"Wonderfully! But does it bother you?"
"It kind of makes me choky."
"I'll tell him."
Kitty, now strangely at peace, snuggled down among the pillows.
Some great Polish violinist, who had roused the bitter enmity of the
anarchist? But no; he was Russian. Cutty had admitted that. It struck
her that Cutty knew a great deal more than Kitty Conover; and so far as
she could see there was no apparent reason for this secrecy. She rather
believed she had Cutty. Either he should tell her everything or she
would run loose, Bolshevik or no Bolshevik.
Sheep. She boosted one over the bars, another and another. Round
somewhere in the thirties the bars dissolved. The next thing she knew
she was blinking in the light, Cutty, his arms folded, staring down at
her sombrely. There was blood on his face and blood on his hands.