Anna turned round with a start, which was almost of guilt, the poker still in her hand. “And by what right do you do anything of the sort?” “No right at all,” he admitted. Without preamble, in a voice of extreme exasperation, he demanded, ‘Now what the devil’s to do? What in God’s name do you mean by sending Gerald such a ridiculous letter? Never read anything half as crazy. Then, as Ramage readjusted himself in a corner, he remarked: “These young people shoot up, Stanley. Perhaps that was the reason why she enjoyed preparing suppers at the Becks. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced. In that case I'll help you.
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