She drank it obediently. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. And at the thought of that other lover—he was convinced that that beloved person was a lover, and she found herself unable to say a word to explain to him that this other person, the person she loved, did not even know of her love—Ramage grew angry and savage once more, and returned suddenly to gibe and insult. Never sent for the shirt. “A joke! Sir John, if you had presented yourself here an hour ago we should have greeted you in pained silence.
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