For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. Miss Mary and me, and Martha too sometimes. Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days. Entering the house, he found himself in a narrow passage leading to the back stairs. On the stranger's appearance, she was seated near the window busily occupied with her needle. His curiosity put itself into a question. F. Ramage did not know.
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