“But what can one do?” asked Ann Veronica. I think he got sick of us and he disappeared not one week later. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. 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. “Have either of you been out of this room since you discovered what had happened?” he asked. So, very carefully, he raised her in his arms and carried her to her bed. She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother.
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