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“It’s precious unromantic. I felt somehow I’d hurt you. A slight rain fell at the time; and a few leaves, caught by the eddies, whirled around. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Ramage,” she said, “please don’t talk like this. The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his impertinence. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. But we must not anticipate the course of events. But I am here.

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