Her face scarcely reflected his enthusiasm. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. "I will not submit to be thus interrogated," said Winifred, angrily. He played variations on this theme for the better part of an hour. Once over the iron spikes, Bess exhibited no reluctance to be let down on the other side of the wall. I am an independent sort of person,” she continued, “and I am engaged in an attempt to earn my own living. NOW it’s just as though you had grown up suddenly. CHAPTER XXXI.
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