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Updated: June 16, 2025
At any rate, what you are doing now is proof sufficient that you feel, and perhaps more strongly than many." He partly turned on the music-chair, and regarded her questioningly, never, however, lifting his hands from the keys as he played a softly passionate minor strain. "What am I doing?" he asked. "Making love to the piano." "It does not hurt the piano, does it?"
Yvonne looked up as he opened the door, and he saw that her eyes were dim. He knelt on a corner of the music-chair and clasped his arms tightly about her shoulders, pressing her cheek against his. As she ceased playing and turned her head he kissed her ardently, holding her fast and watching her with those yearning eyes whose gaze can make a woman's heart beat faster.
"What is that?" asked Levice, looking curiously at his nephew, who, turning on his music-chair, took up his cigar again. "That," he replied, flecking an ash from his coat lapel, "has no name that I know of; some people call it 'The Soul." A pained sensation shot through Ruth at his words, for he had plainly been improvising, and he must have felt what he had played.
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