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As concertmaster, it was Lucy’s duty to seat the orchestra as well as tune them. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. He accepted this confession conditionally: that no young man had kissed her. I studied violin with a teacher when I was younger,” she said. Spurlock had not coached her on this line of conduct. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. ’—he’s frightfully anti-Mendelian—having it all their own way. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. Then, when the tension was getting unendurable, and she was on the verge of speaking to some casual passer-by and demanding help, her follower vanished. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. The Red Room.
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