I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains. ‘Who the devil is Leonardo?’ demanded Roding impatiently, asking the question that had leapt into the major’s mind. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. I will give you all some tea, and then I must leave you for a few minutes. He paced faster, stomping around.
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