’” “What did he say?” “What does any one say to an invitation to dinner point-blank? One tries to collect one’s wits. ’ ‘That is what you thought of me. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. It was so hopeless to put it to them. Here they would be having lunch. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. "Enough's as good as a feast.
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