She answered him almost coldly. As much as it killed her, she kept her mouth shut. She got up, as she had been told to do, at his appearance, and he amazed her by sitting down, according to custom, on her stool. Ann Veronica, who knew her dress became her, dropped a curtsy to her father’s regard. ‘Jacques, do not go!’ Jack gazed steadfastly at the floor. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. There was—a service. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. He loves the Mendelians because he hates all the big names of the eighties and nineties.
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