His fork on his plate released the couple. Barely half a dozen words,
before the sitting to that niggard restoration, had informed Carinthia of
the step taken by her brother. She beckoned him to follow her.

'The worst is done now, Chillon. I am silent. Uncle is a rock. You say
we must not offend. I have given him my whole mind. Say where Riette is
to live.'

'Her headquarters will be here, at a furnished house. She's, with her
cousin, the Dowager.'

'Yes. She should be with me.'

'She wants music. She wants--poor girl! let her have what comes to
her.'

Their thoughts beneath their speech were like fish darting under shadow
of the traffic bridge.

'She loves music,' said Carinthia; 'it is almost life to her, like fresh
air to me. Next month I am in London; Lady Arpington is kind. She will
give me as much of their polish as I can take. I dare say I should feel
the need of it if I were an enlightened person.'

'For instance, did I hear "Owain," when your Welsh friend was leaving?'
Chillon asked.

'It was his dying wife's wish, brother.'