Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action. And now, a fair exchange, Sir. All through the night an entirely impossible and monumental Capes confronted her, and she argued with him about men and women. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come.
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