Do I infer that it is a
disgrace to be ladylike?"
"Not for a woman," laughed the Colonel. "Why do you pretend to
misunderstand me? You always know what I mean."
After dinner, when the coffee had been served, Allison took out his
violin, of his own accord. "You haven't asked me to play, but I'm going
to. Who is going to play my accompaniment? Don't all speak at once."
Rose went to the piano and looked over his music. "I'll try. Fortunately
I'm familiar with some of this."
His first notes came with a clearness and authority for which she was
wholly unprepared. She followed the accompaniment almost perfectly, but
mechanically, lost as she was in the wonder and delight of his playing.
The exquisite harmony seemed to be the inmost soul of the violin,
speaking at last, through forgotten ages, of things made with the world
--Love and Death and Parting. Above it and through it hovered a spirit of
longing, infinite and untranslatable, yet clear as some high call.
Subtly, Rose answered to it. In some mysterious way, she seemed set free
from bondage. Unsuspected fetters loosened; she had a sense of
largeness, of freedom which she had never known before.
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