But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor. And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society. They had a universe to talk about—two universes. It was apparent, and then it faded into the quality of an inevitable necessity. “I am not dependent upon any one. . Well, well; all he himself could do would be to watch this singular drama unroll. He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn’t risk claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. The conversation turned towards the subject of the Diedermayer’s many European vacations. “Yes, aren’t they?” said Ann Veronica, after a thoughtful pause. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess.
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