Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. “You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. You are different from all the world for me. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. She was practically destitute of jewellery. But she certainly remembered that when she was a little girl he sometimes wore tennis flannels, and also rode a bicycle very dexterously in through the gates to the front door. One of her duties, after she had been taught to read, had been to read aloud after breakfast and before going to bed. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. Remote little Ann Veronica! She would never know the heart of that child again! That child had loved fairy princes with velvet suits and golden locks, and she was in love with a real man named Capes, with little gleams of gold on his cheek and a pleasant voice and firm and shapely hands. “Very well,” he said, “I will go. If they hadn't sent for me, you'd have pegged out before morning.
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