Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. Both had very singular faces; very odd wigs, very much pulled over their brows; and very large cravats, very much raised above their chins. And now Ann Veronica’s evenings were also becoming very busy. There's a man dying—Captain Darrell. He eyed the young couple with the tragic history behind them, and could only suppose that familiarity had dulled their senses. That was the only sound he heard. But those days are over—quite over.
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