Taber's room at once," Ruth ordered. “The things involved in it are,” he answered gravely. “It really is not necessary. I’m not Gerald, remember. At the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice.
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