" Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. On the left lay the heights of Hampstead, studded with villas, while farther off a hazy cloud marked the position of the metropolis. “I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica; “I think I am. While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. But,” and he faced them both with a still expressionless glance, “this is not the end!” Anna recovered her spirits with marvellous facility. The music confused and distracted her, and made her struggle against a feeling of intoxication. The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions.
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