She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. “I wonder if they will seem altered,” she remarked for the third time. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. "Let me see him. Montague Hill was taken for the millionaire once or twice, and I suppose it flattered his vanity. She attacked his hair resolutely.
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