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‘Very wise,’ commented Gerald. 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. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. This lady is my wife, and I have a right to be here. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. ’ ‘The what, miss?’ asked Kimble, frowning.
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