We smirk, and we’re a bit—furtive. “I am exceedingly sorry,” he said. “No, he wouldn’t come here of all places—just now. Though they do, in secret, I believe. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. Not that it would make any difference if he was alive still. How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. ” “That is provokingly indefinite,” he answered, a little ruefully. She had not seen Ramage for ten or eleven days, and she was quite ready for a gossip with him.
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