’ ‘Precisely,’ Gerald repeated. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations. Ah! but you can’t imagine what you are to me and what you mean to me! I suppose there is something mystical and wonderful about all women. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. “What’s the objection?” “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter the key of the conversation. Her name was Rhea. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided.
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