Then there came briskly along the path towards her, an Englishman. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. He, who had faced the gale, would have been instantly stifled. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. ‘We?’ Gerald smiled. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. “Upon my word,” he exclaimed, “this is most extraordinary. Mike was showing his territorial instincts, brought out by the fact that he was drunk. “What he had was altogether insufficient. I too, Anna, have watched and read of your success with—I must confess it—some misgiving.
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