She kept her face downcast. He heard the panting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchor chains. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. “Life is upsetting enough, without the novels taking a share,” said Mr. ‘Softly, you say?’ she uttered, raging. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. Wood went on fuming, and the trio went on laughing for some minutes, nobody knew why or wherefore, until the party was increased by Mr. ’ Gerald laughed. “Don’t be too sure of that,” she answered enigmatically. ” “I met you accidentally,” he reminded her.
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