"My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. ‘And me, I am a lady. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. “Please make yourselves comfortable while I see to the coffee.
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