She feasted reluctantly, partly out of wonder at the new function of her often elongated canines. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. ‘What do you do here?’ demanded the young lady, moving to meet him. F. Rummage, my boy, do. Lucy had been ignoring her, not purposefully, but noticeably. DeSoto, seemed to notice her thoroughly. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. They stood for a moment in the passage and listened. ‘Of course I see that,’ she said impatiently.
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