. ’ ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but I think as how you ought to go back to London,’ Jack ventured. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. They had turned into the street, on the opposite side of which were the flats where Anna lived. “I wonder what he will do?” She tried to imagine situations that might arise out of Ramage’s antagonism, for he had been so bitter and savage that she could not believe that he would leave things as they were. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. You have never seen the child within your arms perishing from hunger, and no relief to be obtained. ‘Alcide’ or no ‘Alcide,’ there is not a music hall manager in London or Paris who would not give you an engagement on your own merits. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves.
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