‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. ” Ann Veronica sat down, and Ramage’s eager eyes feasted on her. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. I’ve accustomed myself to think of you— as if you were like every other girl who works at the schools—as something quite outside these possibilities. She felt privileged above other women at parties, where she was on display as all the duchesses and queens looked upon her with envy as he was so clearly entranced by her in every way. There was a sharp knocking at the outside door. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt.
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