The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. It makes no difference. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. At the first glance, he imagined he must have stumbled upon a museum of rarities, there were so many glass-cases, so many open cabinets, ranged against the walls; but the next convinced him that if Jonathan was a virtuoso, his tastes did not run in the ordinary channels. The man was thick set, with a bright roving eye. He had found her in a communicative mood, and he used the accumulated skill of years in turning that to account. .
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