The musician
might compose something and play it, wanting you to think of the Holy
Grail, and some people who heard it would think of a prayer-meeting,
and some would think of how good they were themselves, and a boy might
think of himself at the head of a solemn procession, carrying a banner
and riding a white horse. And then, if there were some jubilant
passages in the music, he'd think of a circus."
They had reached her gate, and she set her hand upon it, but did
not open it. Bibbs felt that this was almost the kindest of her
kindnesses--not to be prompt in leaving him.
"After all," she said, "you didn't tell me whether you liked it."
"No. I didn't need to."
"No, that's true, and I didn't need to ask. I knew. But you said
you were trying to keep from telling me what it did mean."
"I can't keep from telling it any longer," he said. "The music meant
to me--it meant the kindness of--of you."
"Kindness? How?"
"You thought I was a sort of lonely tramp--and sick--"
"No," she said, decidedly. "I thought perhaps you'd like to hear
Dr. Kraft play. And you did."
"It's curious; sometimes it seemed to me that it was you who were
playing.
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