” “Of course,” said Capes, and threw a newly lit cigar into the fire through sheer nervousness. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. \"Do not tell me that you have not asked her yet, fool, or I will be forced to dump the rest of that soda over your head. But," said the fellow, with a laugh, "he soon contrived to make his way out on it, though. That would be an unkind twist of fate.
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