Your purpose is done. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness. 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. Ennison better than I have ever told you,” she said slowly.
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