“My charm of manner, I suppose. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. 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. “I believe that you are right,” he said softly. “I have a letter for him from his brother, which I was just leaving. That might happen on her birthday—in August. You were afraid of me, afraid that I should have been shocked, afraid of the scandal.
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