Nigel, do you know that I have been very jealous?” He avoided the invitation of her eyes. “Ah!” said Ramage, impressively. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released. "But are you really there?" "No, I'm here," answered Jack, leaping down.
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