For a few moments, Thames regarded the little girl through the half-opened door in silence. ’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. “Then you—you will?” A long pause. He stood transfixed. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. He was followed with equal celerity by Terence and the widow. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. “I wonder what he will do?” She tried to imagine situations that might arise out of Ramage’s antagonism, for he had been so bitter and savage that she could not believe that he would leave things as they were. She winced as he thrust the fact at her, was about to answer, and checked herself. He never felt any need to explain himself.
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