” The doors at the other end of the hall opened. “Have some more port wine, sir?” “It’s a very sound wine,” said Mr. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. ” “I know—” said Ramage, with sympathy. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. Nothing ensued. I proceeded to Manchester, to investigate the matter further, and when there ascertained, beyond a doubt, that you were the eldest daughter of Sir Montacute Trenchard. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. Want to walk home today? Lucy slipped the paper into her English textbook. “How unkind!” she exclaimed.
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