“I am glad,” she told herself, “I came. As he pocketed it, her open palm reached out and slapped his cheek. Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Marvel, therefore, remained on his probation. Even there a woman never gets a fair chance. ‘I do not know your Gérard. "Yes, my angel, to her—rest her soul! She extorted it from me, and bound me by a solemn oath to fulfil it. 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. Pray, walk in. In your heart you know very well that this is absurd. Others pulled hats over their noses, cowered in their seats, and feigned that all was right with the world. He had bled everywhere, but she had struck when the opportunity was ripe. Still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world.
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