He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. 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. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. She was chic, distinguished, unusual. ” She thought more and more along that line. ” She refused. The thought of Capes flooded her being like long-veiled sunlight breaking again through clouds. You know all this stuff is insured. Teddy went round by the garden backs and dropped the bag over the fence. And Ramage too—about Ramage there would always be that air of avidity, that air of knowledge and inquiry, the mixture of things in his talk that were rather good with things that were rather poor. I can't give you my hand; but you may take it. Wood's at Dollis Hill, wholly unsuspicious of any designs against him, and, in fact, entirely ignorant of your being acquainted with his return, or even of his existence. Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits.
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