"Thames!—Thames!" cried Winifred, rushing to the window. ” She looked up at him quickly. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. 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. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. John knew better. He walked hastily to the side of the broad pavement and summoned a fiacre.
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