" Spurlock grew limp in his chair. 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. " "A white wall is a fool's paper, Jack,—remember that," rejoined Wood. Her eyes were lit with a gleam of humour. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. The Frenchman was already being followed. ’ She paused, holding her nurse’s eyes.
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