I knew where I would go next: Florence. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly. You make a game with me, imbecile. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. Above her head was an aura of white fire. The theme was a masquerade. “You will have some tea?” she asked. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. I believe I’m in love. The contact is disturbing; and we prefer going around the fact to facing it. They could not go on.
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