But before the Grieg concerto was done, she knew that she was free. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright. He then made a sort of running noose, passed it over her body, and taking firmly hold of the bars, prepared to guide her descent. ‘He was our first commander, and a more stiff-necked—’ ‘Exactly so,’ concurred Lady Bicknacre.
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