Lucy stood in front of the piano. She let go of him and stood up, straightening herself. A blow from the iron bar instantly stretched the ruffian on the floor. The manager, however, who stood in the wings, nodded to her to proceed, and the orchestra commenced the first few bars of the music. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. ’ About to hurry from the little parlour, Melusine remembered Mrs Ibstock.
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