For years after he remembered every small detail of the room as he looked down it and then across to Ruby again: the motion of the fiddle-bows; the variegated dresses of the women; the kissing-bush that some tall dancer's head had set swaying from the low rafter; the light of a sconce gleaming on Tresidder's bald scalp.
Years after, he could recall the exact poise of Ruby's head as she answered some question of her companion.

The stranger left her, and strolled slowly down the room to the fireplace, when he faced round, throwing an arm negligently along the mantel-shelf, and leant with legs crossed, waiting.
Then Young Zeb made up his mind, and stepped out into the middle of the floor.

The musicians were sawing with might and main at high speed.
He crossed his arms, and, fixing his eyes on the stranger's, began the hornpipe.
When it ceased, he had danced his best.

It was only when the applause broke out that he knew he had fastened, from start to finish, on the man by the fireplace a pair of eyes blazing with hate.

The other had stared back quietly, as if he noted only the performance.