" The doctor caught the irony, and he warmed a little. Presently she became aware of footsteps hurrying after her, and glanced back to find Miss Klegg, a little out of breath, in pursuit. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. ‘Étes-vous Francais?’ Her eyes, he noted, followed from himself to Hilary and back again, but she did not speak. She became angry with herself. For a time it really seemed all-sufficient to her that she should love. “I don’t know much about the technique of music,” he said at last, with his eyes upon her. Love lives on a higher plane.
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