" "That fiend is ever in my path," exclaimed Mrs. Ramage, I came here—I didn’t suppose for one moment you would dare —” “Nonsense! That is your mistake! You are too intellectual. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. Sir John gave his order, deliberately stumbling now and then over a word, and anglicizing others. She laughed nervously, but kept her eyes averted. She had finally managed to start breaking him down. “Afterwards,” she said, “I should be perfectly content to have everything done for me. ‘I think you’ve gone stark, staring crazy.
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