“Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. He was continually dramatizing the future, anticipating the singular role he had elected to play. ” Anna’s eyes opened a little wider, but she said nothing. “Thank you—and good-bye. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. ” “We will do it,” he declared. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing.
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