He was manifestly exerting his mind for her, and she found herself fully disposed to justify his interest. Ramage talked always about women or some woman’s concern, and very much about Ann Veronica’s own outlook upon life. “I hope you will not compel me to say again that I do not know the man’s name, nor, to the best of my belief, have I ever seen him before in my life. But—It’s just this: who was to be hurt?” “I wish no one had to be hurt,” said Ann Veronica. “What have I been all this time?” she asked herself, and answered, “Just stark egotism, crude assertion of Ann Veronica, without a modest rag of religion or discipline or respect for authority to cover me!” It seemed to her as though she had at last found the touchstone of conduct. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl.
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