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. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. He played variations on this theme for the better part of an hour. Mr. “She has improved her style,” someone declared. Lucy treaded down two steps, stunned. After that time, I shall place my setters on your heels.
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