He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. The door popped open with a sigh. If this success continued, it would be easy to assume the name of Taber. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. “We always have things out with OUR father, poor dear!” said Hetty. Why not? Were not his own sentiments inclined in favour of the patient? But fifty gold was fifty gold. But it was now too late to turn back, and, nerving himself for the shock he expected to encounter, he ventured after his conductor. Ennison, or any other young man.
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