oom. 'What is it?'
thought Swithin; he had a longing to lean back and kiss her lips. He
tried angrily to see what she was seeing in those faces turned all one
way.

Boleskey rose to speak. No one moved; not a sound could be heard but the
tone of his deep voice. On and on he went, fierce and solemn, and with
the rise of his voice, all those faces-fair or swarthy--seemed to be
glowing with one and the same feeling. Swithin felt the white heat in
those faces--it was not decent! In that whole speech he only understood
the one word--"Magyar" which came again and again. He almost dozed off
at last. The twang of a czymbal woke him. 'What?' he thought, 'more
of that infernal music!' Margit, leaning over him, whispered: "Listen!
Racoczy! It is forbidden!" Swithin saw that Rozsi was no longer in
her seat; it was she who was striking those forbidden notes. He looked
round--everywhere the same unmoving faces, the same entrancement,
and fierce stillness. The music sounded muffled, as if it, too, were
bursting its heart in silence. Swithin felt within him a touch of panic.
Was this a den of tigers? The way these people listened, the ferocity of
their stillness, was frightful...! He gripped his chair and broke into
a perspiration; was there no chance to get away? 'When it stops,' he
thought, 'there'll be a rush!' But there was only a greater silence. It
flashed across him that any hostile person coming in then would be torn
to pieces. A woman sobbed. The whole thing was beyond words unpleasant.
He rose, and edged his way furtively towards the doorway. There was a
cry of "Police!" The whole crowd came pressing after him. Swithin would
soon have been out, but a little behind he caught sight of Rozsi swept
off her feet. Her frightened eyes angered him. 'She doesn't deserve it,'
he thought sulkily; 'letting all this loose!' and forced his way back to
her. She clung to him, and a fever went stealing through his veins; he
butted forward at the crowd, holding her tight. When they were outside
he let her go.

"I was afraid," she said.

"Afraid!" muttered Swithin; "I should think so." No longer touching her,
he felt his grievance revive.

"But you are so strong," she murmured.

"This is no place for you," growled Swithin, "I'm going to see you
home."

"Oh!" cried Rozsi; "but papa and--Margit!"

"That's their look-out!" and he hurried her away.

She slid her hand under his arm; the soft curves of her form brushed
him gently, each tou