The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. “Begin violence, and the woman goes under. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. “Think of what people will say!” That became a refrain. What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes. He understood now that it was a part of her inheritance. ‘But I was not there. Here would be a woman perfectly unrecognizable, strong, ruthless but just.
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