“Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. She doubted if Manning would even listen to that. 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. Sorry I’m a bit late the first evening. What has been the matter?” “Toothache,” he answered laconically. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun.
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