“We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. " "You are right, Sir," said the worthy carpenter, rising.
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