The anguish on the 'cellist's face, was terrible to see.

Then--oh, Dick, I don't know how to tell you!" "Go on, Helen," he said, gently.
"Then he turned from the 'cello, and looked at _me_; and, Dick, it was the soul of Ronnie--_my_ Ronnie--in deepest trouble over his Infant of Prague, which looked at me through those deep sad eyes.

I cannot explain to you how I knew it! He was totally unlike my big fair Ronnie, but--it was the soul of Ronnie, in great distress, looking at _me_! The moment I realised this, I seemed set free from the past.

The 'cellist, the woman, the Avenger, all vanished instantly.

I saw myself reflected, I saw you, I saw the studio; I saw Ronnie on the floor.