" "This is folly," cried Jack, controlling himself by a powerful effort. A woman isn’t much freer—in reality. ’ She drew a heavy breath. " "What kind?" "Dickens, Hugo. " "I thought as much," sneered Mrs. Jack, who had been lingering near the group, now walked on. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. “You do not quite understand,” she said gently. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun.
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