Her sense followed the shoulders under his coat, down to where his flexible, sensitive-looking hand rested lightly upon the table. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. “You are wrong! I did not think you thought such things. ’ “Crude, I admit. . Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Nobody could possibly find him now.
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