Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail. Lucy sat paralyzed, as still as Tiger Lily on the death raft. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. Meysey Hill—never your wife. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. So dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who shrank out of sight. I have been thinking these things over lately, and it seems to me that marriage for a girl is just the supremest thing in life. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music.
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