For a moment she too had started and faltered in her exit from the room. "Granted it were as you say, Jack," said Wild;—"and I sha'n't take the trouble to contradict you—the estates would be yours hereafter. It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind. They were looking for a guide. That was something in his favour. 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. " "Offer them my hearty thanks," replied Jack, waving his hand to the group, all of whom returned the salutation. Thames Darrell MUST die. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery.
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