She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. ’ A scowl crossed the lady’s face. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. Had he been trying to stop the grim descent, and had he dimly perceived that perhaps a fine deed would serve as the initial barrier? A drunken idea—a pearl in the midst of a rubbish heap. He's passed through some rough mental torture. Earles closed the piano with a little bang. "Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday," said Jack.
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