Edward S. Van Zile

“ Forgive me if I have spoken too plainly. You're a very charming young woman, and I admire your—ah—genius. But mine's gone, and I'll take good care that it doesn't come back. If you'd like that piano in the music-room, Signorina Molatti, I'm sure that my wife would be glad to send it over to your apartments. We're through with it—forever!"
I was sorry for the girl. The expression of amazement—even horror—that had come into her dark, expressive face touched my heart, and I laid my hand gently on her arm.
"It's a great mystery, signorina," I whispered to her, as I led her from the library. ”

“ Not once, I was glad to note, did his eyes wander to the distant shelf on which stood our Chopin literature, books that I had doomed in my mind to an auto-da-fé when a fitting opportunity for the sacrifice should arise.
"Isn't this cozy?" remarked Tom presently, glancing at me affectionately. "But I suppose I must hasten my recovery, my dear. The Pepper and Salt Trust and other enterprises don't take much stock in sick men."
"Don't worry about business matters, Tom Remsen," I said, with playful sternness. "We can get on very well if you never do another stroke of work in your life." ”

“ A shadow passed over Tom's face, and he puffed his cigarette nervously. "I'm not fitted for a life of leisure, my dear," he remarked, grimly. "A man may get into so many kinds of mischief if he isn't busy." ”