It isn't friendly as I thought it would be. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. They give themselves airs, but so it is. The curtain came festooning slowly down, the music ceased, the lights in the auditorium glowed out, and Ann Veronica woke out of her confused dream of involuntary and commanding love in a glory of sound and colors to discover that Ramage was sitting close beside her with one hand resting lightly on her waist.
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