"But I notice that women cluster around you after your concerts—and shake your hand longer than they should—and talk to you longer than they should and go away looking self-satisfied!" she replied brokenly, much as a little girl tells of the theft of her doll.

"Nonsense," he said, smiling, "that is all part of my profession; it is not me they care for, it is the music I give that makes them happy. If, in my playing, I achieve results out of the common, they admire me!" and he kissed away the unwelcome tears.

"I know," she continued, "but lately, since we have loved each other, I can not bear to see a woman near you. In my dreams again and again an indefinable shadow mockingly comes and cries to me, 'he is not to be yours, he is to be mine.'"