Advancing to the middle of the chamber, he halted, drew himself up, and fixed his dark, expressive eyes, on Thames Darrell. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. Gerald saw her eyes change as she recognised him. Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. He then made off. Besides, it did not fit her well, which was why the loose wimple had slipped. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. At last, she breathed. It was the gratification of an immense necessity.
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