She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. ” “For example?” “Your dyed hair. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. ’ ‘Then you shall no longer do so. Lucy's ears were singing. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. These thoughts, however, came to a broken end. hopelessly, and it made me desperate.
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