A BAYARD OF BROADWAY
ing desultory chords. Presently he began to sing, in a sweet, piercing tenor:
"Oh, promise me that some day you and I"
There was a moved silence through the room; his voice had a quality that reached for the heart:
"Those first sweet violets of early spring"
Dillon glanced at the woman; her large, dark eyes were brimmed with tears. A great pity surged over him: he would have given anything he owned to be able to offer her her life to live again. Tenderly, as over a dusty, broken bird, he laid his hand over her clasped ones on the table. They sat in awed silence; the song swelled on. He did not hear the door open behind him, nor turn as a new party of four entered quietly. Directly behind his chair a man's voice spoke softly.
"This is a fair sample. Not very bad, you think? But every man in this room is a confirmed opium-eater, and the women"
The two at the table hardly heard.
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