It was during Martin’s Violin Concerto that she was extraordinary. In an instant the expectant calm of Westminster was ended, and the very Speaker in the chair blenched at the sound of the policemen’s whistles. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. He reeled, and crashed to the floor. She was particularly charmed by his theory of friendship. I’ve had a lot on my mind. Love….
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