It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. Ramage, regarding it and putting a well-booted foot up on the bottom rail. “I don’t see there’s any getting away from the fact that you and I love each other,” he said, slowly. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. The touch of her hands was pleasurable. For my blood you made it very hot indeed. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. “You blithering idiot!” he exclaimed. He looked at her with an expression of comical despair. I could not love you else.
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