Wasn’t easy, I can tell you. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. He could neither stifle nor deaden that. He hesitated. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. They reached Wimbledon, and Ramage whipped out to hand Miss Stanley to the platform as though she had been a duchess, and she descended as though such attentions from middle-aged, but still gallant, merchants were a matter of course. She drew a long breath.
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