" "Nonsense," returned Jonathan gruffly. A middle-aged countrywoman, plump of cheek, and a little shy. She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. He stopped short of a group of adolescent saplings and turned the ignition off. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. Then Ramage appeared with effusion, and ushered her into his inner apartment.
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