Mrs. “Ritter’s!” said Ramage to the driver, “Dean Street. “It’s odd—I have no doubt in my mind that what we are doing is wrong,” he said. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. I want you. ‘Why, that’s it. “Gods!” cried Ann Veronica, and kept him standing. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. I am dreadfully sad.
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