I was—I was a corespondent. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. D'ye hear how the wanes creaks on old Winchester House? We shall have a touch on it ourselves presently. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving.
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