There was a stain of wine upon her dress. The curtain came festooning slowly down, the music ceased, the lights in the auditorium glowed out, and Ann Veronica woke out of her confused dream of involuntary and commanding love in a glory of sound and colors to discover that Ramage was sitting close beside her with one hand resting lightly on her waist. The light fell upon the fugitive, who stood before him in an attitude of defence, with the child in his arms. She will not confide in me. She got hysterical. Kneebone, who began to feel sleepy, wound it up, and snuffed the candles. Jack submitted to this scrutiny with a very bad grace, and vehemently protested his innocence. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. Now, for the cage, my pretty canary-bird.
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