He described her privately to himself as a splendid girl. She was too wrapped up in the sheer joy of playing again; it had 201 been intimate, masturbatory. It was eleven o'clock. ‘I assure you it suits her as Mary would not. You will obey me out of common decency. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. Just beyond there would be her heart's desire.
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