“Often,” he repeated, a little heavily. " "So do I!" she cried; "for then you would have been really my brother. “Why will you not be sensible? Go back to your old life and your old friends, and forget all about Paris and this absurd delusion of yours. I don’t want to know. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. 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.
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