His fingers closed upon her hand. For a time Ann Veronica’s attention was diverted by her aunt’s interest in the salted almonds. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. I suppose most of our daughters would marry organ-grinders if they had a chance—at that age. When I told them I was going to your house today, my dad told me to either ask for lessons or bring my violin to give to you permanently since I was not ever going to use it.
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