“The fact is,” he said gruffly, “I was in love with you against my will.” She had known that for a long while, but she liked to hear him say it. And she was infected with a childish daring. She laughed boisterously. “What?” she cried. “You in love with me?--Surely not? Never--I don’t believe it, Mr. Verreker.” He answered, slowly and methodically: “It was so.... I will tell you about it if you wish to know. When I first heard you play before Razounov at my house I knew that you were no genius, but a person of slightly above average ability who might be trained or coerced into doing something worth while. But there were lots of people like that whom I refused to teach. I was going to refuse you, though I didn’t want to. A friend of yours--your fiancé, I supposed at that time--was offering to pay for your lessons. It seemed a capital excuse for accepting you as a pupil. To my everlasting regret I grabbed hold of it eagerly. You came to me once a week and I pumped music into you at the rate of three guineas a lesson.... Even then I believe I was in love with you....” “I must have been,” he continued, “because you were such a little fool that normally I should have chucked you up. You had a horrible set of musical bad manners, and not an idea of how to play. I had to give you huge quantities of myself. I thought then I might create out of you something it would be worth my while to love. I tried. I admit you had remarkable receptiveness. You gulped down everything I offered you.... In fact, I made you. You hadn’t an idea in your head till I put some there. You couldn’t have played a note at a public concert unless I had shown you how to. You were absolutely dependent on me.... When I left your life you went smash. You found you couldn’t play without me. I was your sole source of inspiration, and you could no more play without me than a performing monkey will do its tricks without its keeper.” “That’s not true,” she protested weakly, but he went on. “Of course it didn’t really matter in the least my being in love with you. I had other things to think about. But when you began to be in love with me, things began to be dangerous. You see it was quite impossible for me to marry you.” “Why?” she said sharply. “Do you really wish to know?” he asked. “I do.” “It will offend you, possibly.” “Never mind.... Tell me....” He paused before answering. “Well,” he said, “this is the politest way I can put it. I could not marry you because you weren’t up to standard--my standard, that is.” “What’s the matter with me?” “You will be offended if I reply.” “Tell me, please.”