Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. With her lived a Mrs. ” She sat motionless, with her hand tightening over the edge of the table, and he, too, said no more. What do you say to Brighton——” Anna looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence. “Okay, I guess.
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