“You did a great job on my concerto today. In regard to yourself, you've had a very narrow escape. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. Wood, Sir," he added, with much emotion, "is one of the best of men, and would be the happiest, were it not that—" and he hesitated. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. But something instinctive prevented that, and with the finest resolve not to be “silly” and prudish she found that whenever he became at all bold in this matter she became severely scientific and impersonal, almost entomological indeed, in her method; she killed every remark as he made it and pinned it out for examination. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. Pay fools with promises. An uncomfortable silence followed. Good words, without deeds, are rushes and reeds.
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