On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her. Almost light-heartedly. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. In fact he was thinking of other things. He beamed as she whispered to 22 him that she had seen a table so fine or tasted such wonders. “Everything very nice, I am sure,” Miss Stanley murmured to Capes as he steered her to a place upon the little sofa before the fire. . She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. “You be off, missie,” said the fatherly policeman. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom.
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