The service began; the music, of the simplest kind, but quite sweet and true, filled the little church. Irene fidgeted, turned first white, then red, and finally, grasping Rosamund's arm, said in a choking voice, "I don't like it. I can't stand the music. The wild, wild thing in me is just as though it would tear me in pieces. I must get out. Come! You promised to come with me."