In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. By the side of her plate was a small key. " "Company!" echoed Rachel; "at this time of night?" "Company, child," repeated Kneebone. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. Do you know the story of Orpheus? He was a musician who followed his damned wife into Hell to bring her back? He was one of us, I believe. “You will go and see her,” he begged. When the doctor came in—he had just finished his breakfast—O'Higgins rose and presented his card. “Lucy, have you noticed that I don’t even own a dog?” He spoke into her hair. “I wish he had,” she said.
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