"Who are you?" inquired Mrs. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. Not part with him!" added he aloud. Her mouth lolled open and drool seeped down one corner. “I have the right to be here. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. 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.
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