After he had endured this torture for an hour, at a sign from Wild another hundred weight was added. It begins with that queer piccolo solo. “The fool I have been!” he cried; and now speech was coming to him. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. They were delighted. He seemed to be about to move toward her.
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