“We have all been in love, you see; your love story is a little farther back than mine.  We all know the bitterness of it—­don’t we?”

Innes admitted that to know the bitterness of love and its sweetness is the common lot of all men.  The conversation dropped again, and Owen felt there was to be no unbosoming of himself that afternoon.

“The room has not changed.  Twelve years ago I saw those old instruments for the first time.  Not one, I think, has disappeared.  It was here that I first heard Ferrabosco’s pavane.”

Innes remembered the pavane quite well, but refused to allow the conversation to digress into a description of Evelyn’s playing of the viola da gamba.  But if they were not to talk about Evelyn there was no use tarrying any longer in Dulwich; he had learned all the old man knew about his daughter.  He got up....  At that moment the door opened and the servant announced Mr. Ulick Dean.

“How do you do, Mr. Innes?” Ulick said, glancing at Owen; and a suspicion crossed his mind that the tall man with small, inquisitive eyes who stood watching him must be Owen Asher, hoping that it was not so, and, at the same time, curious to make his predecessor’s acquaintance; he admitted his curiosity as soon as Innes introduced him.

“The moment I saw you, Sir Owen, I guessed that it must be you.  I had heard so much about you, you see, and your appearance is so distinctive.”

These last words dissipated the gloom upon Owen’s face—­it is always pleasing to think that one is distinctive.  And turning from Sir Owen to Innes, Ulick told him how, finding himself in London, he had availed himself of the opportunity to run down to see him.  Owen sat criticising, watching him rather cynically, interested in his youth and in his thick, rebellious hair, flowing upwards from a white forehead.  The full-fleshed face, lit with nervous, grey eyes, reminded Owen of a Roman bust.  “A young Roman emperor,” he said to himself, and he seemed to understand Evelyn’s love of Ulick.  Would that she had continued to love this young pagan!  Far better than to have been duped by that grey, skinny Christian.  And he listened to Ulick, admiring his independent thought, his flashes of wit.

Ulick was telling stories of an opera company to which it was likely he would be appointed secretary.  A very unlikely thing indeed to happen, Owen thought, if the company were assembled outside the windows, within hearing of the stories which Ulick was telling about them.  Very amusing were the young man’s anecdotes and comments, but it seemed to Owen as if he would never cease talking; and Innes, though seeming to enjoy the young man’s wit, seemed to feel with Owen that something must be done to bring it to an end.

“We shall be here all the afternoon listening to you, Ulick.  I don’t know if Sir Owen has anything else to do, but I have some parts to copy; there is a rehearsal to-night.”