Ossining Road that's done a lot less to deserve a sentence. Wild Rose!
I'll tell the world it made me go good and wild," said the man from
up-state, an economical soul who disliked waste and was accustomed to
spread out his humorous efforts so as to give them every chance. "Why,
before the second act was over, the people were beating it for the
exits, and if it hadn't been for someone shouting 'Women and children
first' there'd have been a panic."

Sally found herself back at her table without knowing clearly how she
had got there.

"Miss Nicholas."

She started to rise, and was aware suddenly that this was not the voice
of duty calling her once more through the gold teeth of Mr. Schoenstein.
The man who had spoken her name had seated himself beside her, and was
talking in precise, clipped accents, oddly familiar. The mist cleared
from her eyes and she recognized Bruce Carmyle.

2

"I called at your place," Mr. Carmyle was saying, "and the hall porter
told me that you were here, so I ventured to follow you. I hope you do
not mind? May I smoke?"

He lit a cigarette with something of an air. His fingers trembled as he
raised the match, but he flattered himself that there was nothing
else in his demeanour to indicate that he was violently excited.
Bruce Carmyle's ideal was the strong man who can rise superior to his
emotions. He was alive to the fact that this was an embarrassing moment,
but he was determined not to show that he appreciated it. He cast a
sideways glance at Sally, and thought that never, not even in the garden
at Monk's Crofton on a certain momentous occasion, had he seen her
looking prettier. Her face was flushed and her eyes aflame. The stout
wraith of Uncle Donald, which had accompanied Mr. Carmyle on this
expedition of his, faded into nothingness as he gazed.

There was a pause. Mr. Carmyle, having lighted his cigarette, puffed
vigorously.

"When did you land?" asked Sally, feeling the need of saying something.
Her mind was confused. She could not have said whether she was glad
or sorry that he was there. Glad, she thought, on the whole. There
was something in his dark, cool, stiff English aspect that gave her a
curious feeling of relief. He was so unlike Mr. Cracknell and the man
from up-state and so calmly remote from the feverish atmosphere in which
she lived her nights that it was restful to look at him.

"I landed to-night," said Bruce Carmyle, turning and faced her squarely.