She wanted to kiss his feet. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. Wood's anxiety to please her distinguished guests speedily displayed itself in a very plentiful, if not very dainty repast. He continued his ditty, in spite of the angry glances of his leader. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. It comes to this—am I to be trusted to take care of myself, or am I not?” “To judge from this proposal of yours, I should say not. ” “I think, Mr.
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