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. Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. " Then he became merciful. Nothing but the constraint of social usage now linked him to her. The gong will go at seven-thirty. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. She became eager to explain herself, to show herself in the right light.
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