He met her eyes with his fiery black gaze. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. She had just passed into a little antechamber beyond when she suddenly heard a faint knocking. Wood turned over to obtain a more comfortable position. “See you at school tomorrow. “The one who used to live at Lyndmore. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. After a series of mental gymnastics—occupying the space of a few seconds—it came to him with a shock that here was a new specimen of the species. ‘Pray do not trouble yourself, Saling.
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