“It’s very lovely,” he said, “and dreadfully triste. The air alone is enough to break your heart.”
“My mother, when she wrote it, was unhappy, I imagine——” She swung slowly around to face the keys again.
“Do you know why she was so unhappy?”
“She fell in love,” said the girl over her shoulder. “And it saddened her life, I think.”
He sat motionless for a while. Dulcie did not turn again. Presently he rose and walked slowly out and down stairs, carrying his letters with him.
The stolid, mottled-faced German girl was on duty at the desk, and she favoured him with a sour look, as usual.
“There was a gen’l’man to see you,” she mumbled.
“When?”
“Just now. I didn’t know you was in.”