She looked up, and recognized Mr. ” “I think,” Lady Lescelles said, putting down her teacup, “that I must send Nigel to plead his own cause. ‘Me and the butler didn’t see eye to eye. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. . ” She massaged him. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters.
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