He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. One more passer-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness. Marvel, who, as he had helped to deprive her of her former husbands, thought himself in duty bound to offer to supply their place. “There is no time for that. On the appearance of the thief-taker, Mrs.
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