"Not a moment is to be lost," cried Jack: "follow me. She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. ‘I should not dream of forcing my attentions on you. ” “What?” He asked. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. Aware of Quilt Arnold's mode of proceeding, Jack instantly dismounted, and, instead of knocking, opened the door with the pass-key. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones.
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