To fan it into white flame.

The whole affair would depend upon whether she cared for music.
If she did he would pluck the soul out of her.

She had saved his life.
Well, what of that?
He had broken yonder man's bread and eaten his salt.

Still, what of that?
Hadn't he come from a race of scoundrels?
The blood--he had smothered and repressed it all his life--to unleash it once, happen what might.

If she were really fond of music! Once again Kitty's glance roved back to Hawksley.