“Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. She left for good after he fell asleep. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. No instrument I've ever used has done me such good service. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. That boy—blind as a bat! Why, he hadn't seen the Woman until to-night! From the first chord of the Grieg concerto to the finale of the Chopin ballade, Ruth had sat tensely on the edge of her chair. He had a narrow escape, however; for, passing within an inch of him, the bullet burried itself deeply in the wall. Quite trying of him not to be there when he is wanted.
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