“You could have married.”
“Why?” she asked, troubled.
“To obtain the means for a musical education.”
She gazed at him in amazement, then: “I could go out on the street, too, as far as that is concerned. It would be no more disgraceful.”
“Folk-ways sanction self-sale, when guaranteed by the clergy,” he said. She turned her head and he saw the pure, cold profile against the golden table-lamp, and he saw something else under the palms beyond—Graylock’s light eyes riveted upon them both.
“You know,” he said, under his breath, “that I shall not marry you. But—would you care to begin your studies again?”
There was a long silence: She remained with face partly averted until the orchestra ceased. Then she turned and looked at him, and he saw her lip tremble.
“I had not thought you meant to ask me—that. I do not quite understand what you mean.”
“I care enough for you to wish to help you. May I?”
“I was not sure you cared—enough—”