Then making a pretence of stooping to rearrange her flowing train, she glanced at Anna, and half stopped in her progress down the room. Her anger died and she eyed him. Not wisely but too well. She tried to think what she should do in this eventuality or that. "That's a good story, lad. And why, after all, should she not borrow money from Ramage? It was so true what he said; middle-class people WERE ridiculously squeamish about money. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly.
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