He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. She found herself talking to Capes in an undertone of rational admission. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. The three of them laughed joyously. ’ Then she frowned. And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it.
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