[67]

Thus she found herself playing on the old piano. She did not know how she came to be doing it. A silly, lilting, wavering tune came before her in the dusk - a tune in which major notes with their cheerful insistence wavered and melted into minor sounds, as, beneath a bridge, the high lights on dark waters melt and waver and disappear into black depths. Well, it was a silly old tune…

It goes with the words - they are about a willow tree, I think:

Thou art to all lost loves the best
The only true plant found.

- That sort of thing. It is Herrick, I believe, and the music with the reedy, irregular, lilting sound that goes with Herrick. And it was dusk; the heavy, hewn, dark pillars that supported the gallery were like mourning presences; the fire had sunk to nothing - a mere glow amongst white ashes… It was a sentimental sort of place and light and hour…

And suddenly Nancy found that she was crying. She was crying quietly; she went on to cry with long convulsive sobs. It seemed to her that everything gay, everything charming, all light, all sweetness, had gone out of life. Unhappiness; unhappiness; unhappiness was all around her. She seemed to know no happy being and she herself was agonising…