He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. “I’ve been playing since I was five, Lucy! You’re just more talented than I am. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. . “Not home yet, miss,” the young man replied. On a sudden, a change came over her countenance, which, up to this moment, had worn a smiling and satisfied expression. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. But he had shown no desire for information, no curiosity.
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