of the secret places where dwelt her
inmost dreams and emotions. And she had nerved herself to do it, made
her sacrifice--in vain! Roger was even unconscious that it was a
sacrifice!

She looked down at him as he lay with the firelight flickering across
his strong-featured face, and a storm of fury and indignation swept
over her. She could have struck him!

Presently he stirred uneasily. Perhaps he felt the cessation of the
music, the sense of someone moving in the room. A moment later he
opened his eyes and saw her standing beside him.

"You, darling?" he murmured drowsily. He stretched his arms. "I
think . . . I've been to sleep." Then, recollection returning to him:
"By Jove! And you were playing to me--"

"Yes," she answered slowly. Her lips felt dry. "And I'll never play
to you again as long as I live!"

He smiled indulgently.

"That's putting it rather strong, isn't it?" he said, making a long arm
and pulling her down on to his knee.

She sprang up again instantly and stood a little away from him, her
hands clenched, her breast heaving tumultuously.

"Come back, small firebrand!" he commanded laughingly.

A fresh gust of indignation, swept over her. Even now he didn't
comprehend, didn't realise in the very least how he had wounded her.
Her nails dug into the flesh of her palms as she took a fresh grip of
herself and answered him--very slowly and distinctly so that he might
not miss her meaning.

"It's not putting it one bit too strong. It's what I feel--that I
can't ever play to you again." She paused, then burst out impetuously:
"You've always disliked my love of music! You were jealous of it. And
to-night I wanted to show you--to--to share it with you. You hated the
piano--you wanted to smash it, because you thought it came between us.
And so I tried to make you understand!" Her words came rushing out
headlong now, bitter, sobbing words, holding all the agony of mind
which she had been enduring for so long.

"You've no idea what music means to me--and you've not tried to find
out. Instead, you've laughed indulgently about it, been impatient over
it, and behaved as though it were some child's toy of which you didn't
quite approve." Her voice shook. "And it isn't! It's _part_ of
me--part of the woman you want to marry . . ."

She broke off, a little breathlessly.

Roger was on his feet now and there was a deep, smouldering anger in
his eyes as he regarded her.

"And is all