‘You must think me a fool, mademoiselle. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. " He drew down the lamp and blew it out, and followed her into the night, more lovely than he had ever imagined night to be. She accomplished it with the aid of the young fellow’s hand, and stepped down into the road, glancing up at the house as she did so. Hilary could not have suggested such a thing. She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl. She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love.
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