For a few moments, Thames regarded the little girl through the half-opened door in silence. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. The girl was flushed with excitement, bright-eyed, and braced for a struggle; her aunt had never seen her looking so fine or so pretty. Ramage,” she cried, “you are outrageous! You understand nothing. “I got Sydney’s telegram at ten o’clock, and caught the ten-thirty from the Gare du Nord. The man himself was not a pleasant object. ‘You’re as mad as she is, Gerald. Get me an interview with her.
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