She had no intention of fighting fair. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. Proceeding along the wall, Jack reached the southern tower, over the battlements of which he clambered, and crossing it, dropped upon the roof of the gate. He had been reading Belfort Bax, and declared himself a convert. “Please stop, cabman,” she ordered. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. “How dare you!” she panted, with her world screaming and grimacing insult at her. Nobody knows what his real name is, but he's a Hollander. “Mike’s an idiot and we both know it, Lucy! I can’t stand him!” “Did you two have a fight? Are you breaking up?” Lucy said worriedly. She seemed tense when not playing, he noted, more so than she had during the first two pieces. “I dare not,” she answered.
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