I am one of those people who are interested in women, more interested than I am in anything else. 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. One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths. It did not matter in the least what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle O'Higgins wanted was the letter H. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright.
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