"O lud! what an exquisite box!" cried Edgeworth Bess. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. ” Sir John coughed. Fifty pupils. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. ” “My dear young lady,” the official said irritably, “this man would not have your name and address in his pocket without an object.
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