Shall we say at half-past seven?” She rose from her chair. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. ” She looked at him for a moment with fire in her eyes. She had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. It was the one that she had sworn she’d throw out, if only Julian had not liked it so much.
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