" "Won't you take me?" "No; you must await my return here. "Go to your own room, woman, directly, or I'll make you!" "Make me!" echoed Mrs. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. “I say!” he said, without any movement. He might solve the riddle. Perhaps, she may tell me whose picture this is.
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