” “Where do you go?” “Oh!—Alps. "Arrest!" vociferated Wood. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. So I come suppliant. At present I cannot marry, I will not become bound even to any one. She was too wrapped up in the sheer joy of playing again; it had 201 been intimate, masturbatory. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. He was waiting in the outer hall as she tiptoed in. When she looked into their eyes, her despair put her beyond tears. .
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