Well, if she survives the accident—as the blood, who styles himself Sir Cecil, fancies she may do—this ring will make my fortune by leading to the discovery of the chief parties concerned in this strange affair. “Your teeth are chattering! I’ll make you some hot chocolate!” Cathy cried. I never forgive an injury. And you think I would marry you?’ ‘Why not? I am unworthy, eh? Because I am a servant. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. She had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. She was not quite clear how she should find it, but she felt she would. He stopped before her suddenly.
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