What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. "I should like to meet the man who would dare to gainsay it. “My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. I did not have to dig deep in my imagination to create the status-obsessed suburban environment of Lucy’s modern milieu. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired.
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