I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing. “Is it your maid?” he asked. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. Too much, perhaps. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. It isn’t such fun as it seems. . Shall we say at half-past seven?” She rose from her chair. ” Ramage reflected. " "You believe it, father?" "From the bottom of my heart.
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