"Mother!" cried Jack, springing towards her. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. The telegram dispatched, his obligation cancelled, Ah Cum proceeded homeward, chuckling occasionally. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left.
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