the strangely compounded street roar. She did not even hear, until it was twice repeated, the buzz of the bell of her own door.
When at last she heard it, she was startled. She had a feeling approaching apprehension as she went to the door and opened it. In the bright light of the hallway stood young Finch Whiteoak. Like a ghost created by her thoughts he stood, tall, hollow-cheeked, with a tremulous smile on his lips.
"Finch!" she exclaimed.
"Hullo, Alayne!" He got out the words with an effort. His face broke up into a smile that was perilously near the contortion of crying.
"Finch, my dear, is it possible? You in New York! I can scarcely believe it is you. But you must tell me all about it."
She drew him in, and took his hat and coat. It seemed so strange to see him away from Jalna that she felt she might be laying eyes on him for the first time.
"I ran away," he muttered. "I just couldn't stand it. . . . I've been here three weeks."
Alayne led him to a sofa and sat down beside him. "Oh, Finch! Poor dear. Tell me all about it." She laid her hand on his. Isolated thus, they were intimate as they had never been at Jalna.
He looked at her hand lying on his. He had always been moved by the whiteness of her hands.
"Well, things seemed absolutely set against me—or me against them. Darned if I know which. Anyhow, I failed in my matric. I suppose you heard that. Aunt Augusta and you write sometimes to each other, don't you? Well, Renny stopped my music lessons. I wasn't even allowed to touch the piano. And I guess that was all right, too, for I'd sort of gone dotty about music. I couldn't forget it for a minute. But I'm like that, you know. Once I get a thing on the brain, I'm done for." He sighed deeply.
Her hand which was lying on his clenched itself. She withdrew it and repeated: "He stopped your music."
