Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. The door was then locked, and he was left alone. Something he saw there had a curious effect upon him. And instead of accepting the situation gratefully, he felt vaguely hurt! One evening in September a proa rasped in upon the beach. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. Perhaps she did love research for its own sake, she was certainly gifted enough. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat.
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