Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. Apparently, Jonathan was well acquainted with the premises; for, feeling about in the dark, he speedily discovered a ladder, up the steps of which he hurried. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. Nothing else was put in their place, and they remained sotto voce, as it were, in his mind. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. ” She hesitated and looked for a moment straight into his eyes. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. But they cut it all off.
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