now　shot　out　obliquely；　perversely。　　It　might　be　that　the　natural
  perverseness　of　his　blood；　unchecked　by　the　noble　influence　of
  Stefani　Gregor　and　liberated　by　the　blow；　governed　his　thoughts　in
  relation　to　Kitty。　　The　subjugation　of　women；　the　old　cynical
  warfare　of　sex　…　the　dominant　business　of　his　rich　and　idle
  forbears；　the　business　that　had　made　Boris　Karlov　a　deadly　and
  implacable　enemy　…　became　paramount　in　his　disordered　brain。
  She　had　forgotten　him！　　Very　well。　　He　would　stir　the　soul　of　her；
  play　with　it；　lift　it　to　the　stars　and　dash　it　down　…　if　she　had　a
  soul。　　Beautiful；　natural；　alone。　　He　became　all　Latin　under　the
  pressure　of　this　idea。
  〃I　will　play　for　you；〃　he　said；　quietly。
  〃Please！　　And　then　I'll　go　home　where　I　belong。　　I'll　be　in　the
  living　room。〃
  When　he　returned　he　found　her　before　a　window；　staring　at　the　myriad
  lights。
  〃Sit　here；〃　he　said；　indicating　the　divan。　　〃I　shall　stand　and　walk
  about　as　I　play。〃
  Kitty　sat　down；　touching　the　pillows；　reflectively。　　She　thought　of
  the　tears　she　had　wept　upon　them。　　That　sinister　and　cynical　thought！
  Suddenly　she　saw　light。　　Her　problem　would　have　been　none　at　all　if
  Cutty　had　said　he　loved　her。　　There　would　have　been　something　sublime
  in　making　him　happy　in　his　twilight。　　He　had　loved　and　lost　her
  mother。　　To　pay　him　for　that！　　He　was　right。　　Those　twenty…odd　years
  …　his　seniority　…　had　mellowed　him；　filled　him　with　deep　and　tender
  understanding。　　To　be　with　him　was　restful；　the　very　thought　of　him
  now　was　resting。　　No　matter　how　much　she　might　love　a　younger　man　he
  would　frequently　torture　her　by　unconscious　egoism；　and　by　the　time
  he　had　mellowed；　the　mulled　wine　would　be　cold。　　If　only　Cutty　had
  said　he　loved　her！
  〃What　shall　I　play？〃
  Kitty　raised　her　eyes　in　frank　astonishment。　　There　was　a　fiercely
  proud　expression　on　Hawksley's　face。　　It　was　not　the　man；　it　was　the
  artist　who　was　angry。
  〃Forgive　me！　　I　was　dreaming　a　little；〃　she　apologized　with　quick
  understanding。　　〃I　am　not　quite　…　myself。〃
  〃Neither　am　I。　　I　will　play　something　to　fit　your　dream。　　But　wait！
  When　I　play　I　am　articulate。　　I　can　express　myself　…　all　emotions。
  I　am　what　I　play　…　happy；　sad；　gay；　full　of　the　devil。　　I　warn
  you。　　I　can　speak　all　things。　　I　can　laugh　at　you；　weep　with　you；
  despise　you；　love　you！　　All　in　the　touch　of　these　strings。　　I　warn
  you　there　is　magic　in　this　Amati。　　Will　you　risk　it？〃
  Ordinarily　…　had　this　florid　outburst　come　from　another　man　…　Kitty
  would　have　laughed。　　It　had　the　air　of　piqued　vanity；　but　she　knew
  that　this　was　not　the　interpretation。　　On　the　streets　he　had　been
  the　most　amusing　and　surprising　comrade　she　had　ever　known；　as
  merry　and　whimsical　as　Cutty　…　young　and　handsome　…　the　real　man。
  He　had　been　real　that　night　when　he　entered　through　her　kitchen
  window；　with　the　drums　of　jeopardy　about　his　neck。　　He　had　been　real
  that　night　she　had　brought　him　his　wallet。
  Electric　antagonism　…　the　room　seemed　charged　with　it。　　The　man　had
  stepped　aside　for　a　moment　and　the　great　noble　had　taken　his　place。
  It　was　not　because　she　had　been　reared　in　rather　a　theatrical
  atmosphere　that　she　transcribed　his　attitude　thus。　　She　knew　that
  he　was　noble。　　That　she　did　not　know　his　rank　was　of　no　consequence。
  Cutty's　narrative；　which　she　had　pretended　to　believe；　had　set　this
  man　in　the　middle　class。　　Never　in　this　world。　　There　was　only　one
  middle　class　out　of　which　such　a　personality　might；　and　often　did；
  emerge　…　the　American　middle　class。　　In　Europe；　never。　　No　peasant
  blood；　no　middle…class　corpuscle；　stirred　in　this　man's　veins。　　The
  ancient　boyar　looked　down　at　her。
  〃Play！〃　said　Kitty。　　There　was　a　smile　on　her　lips；　but　there　was
  fiery　challenge　in　her　slate…blue　eyes。　　The　blood　of　Irish　kings
  …　and　what　Irishman　dares　deny　it？　　…　surged　into　her　throat。
  We　wear　masks；　we　inherit　generations　of　masks；　and　a　trivial
  incident　reveals　the　primordial　which　lurks　in　each　one　of　us。
  Savages　…　Kitty　with　her　stone　hatchet　and　Hawksley　swinging　the
  curved　blade　of　Hunk。
  He　began　one　of　those　tempestuous　compositions；　brilliant　and
  bewildering；　that　submerge　the　most　appreciative　lay　mentality
  …　because　he　was　angry；　a　double　anger　that　he　should　be　angry
  over　he　knew　not　what　…　and　broke　off　in　the　middle　of　the
  composition　because　Kitty　sat　upright；　stonily　unimpressed。
  Tschaikowsky's　〃Serenade　Melancolique。〃　　Kitty；　after　a　few
  measures；　laid　aside　her　stone　hatchet；　and　her　body　relaxed。
  Music！　　She　began　to　absorb　it　as　parched　earth　absorbs　the　tardy
  rain。　　Then　came　the　waltz　which　had　haunted　her。　　Her　face　grew
  tenderly　beautiful；　and　Hawksley；　a　true　artist；　saw　that　he　had
  discovered　the　fifth　string；　and　he　played　upon　it　with　all　the
  artistry　which　was　naturally　his　and　which　had　been　given　form　by
  the　master　who　had　taught　him。
  For　the　physical　exertions　he　relied　upon　nerve　energy　again。
  Nature　is　generous　when　we　are　young。　　No　matter　how　much　we　draw
  against　the　account　she　always　has　a　little　more　for　us。　　He　forgot
  that　only　an　hour　gone　he　had　been　dizzy　with　pain；　forgot
  everything　but　the　glory　of　the　sounds　he　was　evoking　and　their
  visible　reaction　upon　this　girl。　　The　devil　was　not　only　in　his
  heart；　but　in　his　hand。
  Never　had　Kitty　heard　such　music。　　To　be　played　to　in　this　manner
  …　directly；　with　embracing　tenderness；　with　undivided　fire　…　would
  have　melted　the　soul　of　Gobseck　the　money　lender；　and　Kitty　was
  warm…blooded；　Irish；　emotional。　　The　fiddle　called　poignantly　to　the
  Irish　in　her。　　She　wanted　to　go　roving　with　this　man；　with　her　hand
  on　his　shoulder　to　walk　in　the　thin　air　of　high　places。　　Through　it
  all；　however；　she　felt　vaguely　troubled；　the　instinct　of　the　trap。
  The　sinister　and　cynical　idea　which　had　clandestinely　taken　up
  quarters　in　her　mind　awoke　and　assailed　her　from　a　new　angle；　that
  of　youth。　　Something　in　her　cried　out：　〃Stop！　　Stop！〃　　But　her　lips
  were　mute；　her　body　enchained。
  Suddenly　Hawksley　laid　aside　the　fiddle　and　advanced。　　He　reached
  down　and　drew　her　up。　　Kitty　did　not　resist　him；　she　was　numb　with
  enchantment。　　He　held　her　close　for　a　second；　then　kissed　her　…　her
  hair；　eyes；　mouth　…　released　her　and　stepped　back；　a　bantering　smile
  on　his　lips　and　cold　terror　in　his　heart。　　The　devil　who　had
  inspired　this　phase　of　the　drama　now　deserted　his　victim；　as　he
  generally　does　in　the　face　of　superior　forces。
  Kitty　stood　perfectly　still　for　a　full　minute；　stunned。　　It　was　that
  smile　…　frozen　on　his　lips　…　that　brought　her　back　to　intimacy　with
  cold　realities。　　Had　he　asked　her　pardon；　had　he　shown　the　least
  repentance；　she　might　have　forgiven；　forgotten。　　But　knowing　mankind
  as　she　did　she　could　give　but　one　interpretation　to　that　smile　…　of
  which　he　was　no　longer　conscious。
  Without　anger；　in　quiet；　level　tones　she　said：　〃I　had　foolishly
  thought　that　we　two　might　be　friends。　　You　have　made　it　impossible。
  You　have　also　abused　the　kindly　hospitality　of　the　man　who　has
  protected　you　from　your　enemies。　　A　few　days　ago　he　did　me　the　honour
  to　ask　me　to　marry　him。　　I　am　going　to。　　I　wish　you　no　evil。〃　　She
  turned　and　walked　from　the　room。
  Even　then　there　was　time。　　But　he　did　not　move。　　It　was　not　until
  he　heard　the　elevator　gate　crash　that　be　was　physically　released
  from　the　thraldom　of　the　inner　revelation。　　Love　…　in　the　blinding
  flash　of　a　thunderbolt！　　He　had　kissed　her　not　because　he　was　the
  son　of　his　father；　but　because　he　loved　her！　　And　now　he　never
  could　tell　her。　　He　must　let　her　go；　believing　that　the　man　she
  had　saved　from　death　had　repaid　her　with　insult。　　On　top　of　all
  his　misfortunes；　his　tragedies　…　love！　　There　was　a　God；　yes；　but
  his　name　was　Irony。　　Love！　　He　stepped　toward　the　divan；　stumbled；
  and　fell　against　it；　his　arms　spread　over　the　pillows；　and　in
  this　position　he　remained。
  For　a　while　his　thoughts　were　broken；　inconclusive；　he　was　like　a
  man　in　the　dark；　groping　for　a　door。　　Principally；　his　poor　head
  was　trying　to　solve　the　riddle　of　his　never…ending　misfortunes。
  Why？　　What　had　he　done　that　these　calamities　should　be　piled　upon
  his　head？　　He　had　lived　decently；　his　youth　had　been　normal；　he
  had　played　fair　with　men　and　women。　　Why　make　him　pay　for　what　his
  forbears　had　done？　　He　wasn't　fair　game。
  He！　　A　singular　revelation　cleared　one　corner。　　Kitty　had　spoken　of
  a　problem；　and　he；　by　those　devil…urged　kisses；　had　solved　it　for
  her。　　She　had　been　doddering；　and　his　own　act　had　thrust　her　into
  the　arms　of　that　old　thoroughbred。　　That　cynical　suggestion　of　his
  the　other　morning　had　been　acted　upon。　　God　had　long　ago　deserted
  him；　and　now　the　devil　himself　had　taken　leave。　　Hawksley　buried
  his　face　in　the　pillow　once　made　wet　with　Kitty's　tears。
  The　great　tragedy　in　life　lies　in　being　too　late。　　Hawksley　had
  learned　this　once　before；　it　was　now　being　driven　home　again。　　Cutty
  was　to　find　it　out　on　the　morrow；　for　he　missed　his　train　that　night。
  The　shuttles　of　the　Weaver　in　this　pattern　of　life　were　two　green
  stones　called　the　drums　of　jeopardy；　inanimate　objects；　but　perfect
  tools　in　the　hands　of　Destiny。　　But　for　these　stones　Hawksley　would
  not　have　tarried　too　long　on　a　certain　red　night；　Cutty　would　not