“Toreador⁠ ⁠… horse power⁠ ⁠… Madame Calvé⁠ ⁠… electric motor⁠ ⁠… fine song⁠ ⁠… storage battery.”

The movement thinned out, and dwindled to a strain of delicate lightness, sustained by the smallest pipes and developing a new motive; this was twice repeated, and then ran down to a series of chords and bars that prepared for and prefigured some great effect close at hand. There was a short pause, then with the sudden releasing of a tremendous rush of sound, back surged the melody, with redoubled volume and power, to the original movement.

“That’s bully, bully!” shouted Gretry, clapping his hands, and his eye, caught by a movement on the other side of the room, he turned about to see Laura Jadwin standing between the opened curtains at the entrance.