“No doubt about that, I fancy,” Meddoes answered lightly. “She can’t go now. She launched into a stuffy Partita 89 and played it too fast. Critically, she stared at her own features. He took about five minutes. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. The Frenchman was already being followed. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. If there was such a thing as love at first sight, these two must epitomise it. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall.
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