‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. "To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. She had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. ” Mrs.
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