I often think of those delightful evenings in Paris. ’ There was a pause. “Do you know,” she confessed, “I never thought of that?” He looked at her as though doubting even now whether she could possibly be in earnest. S. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. Does it?” “I think it does. I will never wed you. He might be unfortunate, but he would scarcely be a fool. Will you let me go out of this room?” “No,” cried Ramage; “hear me out! I’ll have that satisfaction, anyhow.
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