He glanced out of the window, looked back at the major and grasped the handle of the door. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. I could not become an Oracle. Going involved two things that all Ann Veronica’s tact had been ineffectual to conceal from her aunt and father. Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. Madame shrugged.
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