"Run away with her," replied Gay. . ’ There was a chuckle in his voice. Humph. The Jacobite. I wonder if some of them did—and it didn’t get reported. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. Opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze.
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