"You are my prisoner. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. “The conventions do not matter one little bit. 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. Perhaps you’ve heard—?’ Well, you know, he had. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring.
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