‘He just came. DeSoto, seemed to notice her thoroughly. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. They were filthy after the burial. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him.
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