“Dear friend,” she said, “do not magnify me into a physiological problem. Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears. "You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland—short accounts, you know. Now what? There was an interest, or why ask him who they were. That’s probably true. When they started getting on each other’s nerves, she blamed herself at first. It was then that the young man entered his thought with some permanency: because there was no apparent reason for his joining the tour, since from the beginning he had shown no interest in anything. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. "No—Sheppard?" rejoined Wild.
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