Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. A tall elegantly dressed woman, followed by a maid, came down the broad staircase. “H’m!” he said, regarding the wreckage with a calmer visage. John’s father added cheerfully, “So, do you play any violin?” She balked at the stereotype, but admitted, “Yes, I play violin.
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