That would be him. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. ’ He sat looking her over in silence for a moment or two, his thoughts revolving around the name and the way it fitted so exquisitely on quite another set of features. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream.
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