“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. ” “But the marriage itself?” Sir John asked. From this perturbed state he was roused by thoughts of his mother, and fancying he heard her gentle voice urging him on to fresh exertion, he started up. Had romance to be banished from life?. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. You aren’t afraid of thunder, are you?” He asked. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. But she did not listen long; she wanted to talk. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets. Someday I'll take you down there and have them rig up the coconut dance for you. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it.
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