She had never experienced anything so disagreeable in her life as the sense of being held helplessly off her feet. . Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Once more he was the searcher. She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid was accustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. "My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. If only out of loyalty to co-education one has to do that.
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