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"African witchcraft! Obi! Fetish worship! The adoration of the bad spirit who catches mortals by the hair. Any one of these things explains the meaning of the term." He bowed, and without offering his hand--which it is very probable Major Jen would have refused to take--he left the room. When the door closed the older man sank into a chair and passed his hand across a brow moist with perspiration. "Was I humming?" she asked genially. "I didn't know I was making any noise at all. I'm awfully sorry to have gotten on your nerves. I was thinking about some exercises, and I must have thought out loud.".
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"I love Maurice. I intend to marry him," she repeated, and an obstinate expression came over her face. "Well, David!" said the newcomer, with significance, "I have made one discovery without your help." So far the reader may wonder at the constituent elements of this story. African witchcraft, mysterious strangers, and barbaric women seem to be out of place when set in the sober framework of an English provincial town. But romance is not dependent upon landscape or on surroundings for its occurrence: it is to be found everywhere, and very often in the most unlikely places. Here, for instance, by some trick of Fate, certain people had come together, certain passions had been aroused, and now that the drama had been set in motion, it seemed likely that it would play itself out to a tragical conclusion. Tragical, certainly; for herein the elements of comedy seem to be wanting. But then Fate is so pessimistic. "Lost! Stolen, you mean," growled Jen, tartly. "That negress--".
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