“I’ve got it. “I think that it is only an idea. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. Presently. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. But I was portentous, I can assure you. It may be, it probably will all come to, nothing. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. "I'll lay my life he's gone on a fox-and-goose-chase to Mr.
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