The knees, gripping the 'cello, were clad in black satin breeches, black silk stockings were on the shapely legs; while on the feet, planted firmly upon the floor, gleamed diamond shoe-buckles.
Ronnie gazed at this reflection.
Each movement of the gliding bow, corresponded to the rhythm of the music now throbbing through the studio.
Ronnie played on, gazing into the mirror.

The man in the mirror did not lift his eyes, nor look at Ronnie.

Either they were bent upon the 'cello, or he played with them fast closed.
Ronnie dared not look down at his own hands.

He could feel his fingers moving up and down the strings, as moved the fingers in the mirror.

He feared he should see lace ruffles falling from his wrists, if he looked at his own hands.
The fire burned low again.
Still Ronnie played on, staring before him as he played.